


Bloody Kisses

by BloodyIvar



Series: Bloody Kisses [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, F/M, Smut, Vampire Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyIvar/pseuds/BloodyIvar
Summary: You find yourself falling in love with a researcher at your college of employment, but he is much more than you bargained for





	1. Chapter 1

Brilliant eyes narrowed in concentration as she surveyed the table, the piles of books and notes not what she was seeking. She gnawed her lower lip, thinking. There was a reference she needed, a passage she’d read that might cast light on her current research, but it wasn’t in the collection beside her. A large book, heavy and old. Red leather? The title escaped her, but she thought she remembered the shelf where she’d found it before.

Rising with her usual unconscious grace, she moved to the stacks, dim illumination plucking highlights from her hair. Damn! Just my luck. How likely is it that two people would be interested in the same dusty old tome? She leaned against the shelves, trying to remember what the reference had said. No joy; I need that book. A student stomped by, scowling at the world, overloaded backpack like a camel’s hump swaying a beat behind his steps. She leaned back to let him pass, smiling kindly, not that she expected him to notice. He seemed oblivious to kindness. He passed her with half an inch to spare, but the bookcase was slightly wider. His pack hit with a thud, knocking the poorly balanced top shelf awry. She looked toward the noise, but saw nothing to concern her as she grinned; the student hadn’t even paused to glance back.

She knelt to read the titles on the lower shelves, hunting for words relevant to her search. She didn’t realize the picture she made for those who might have been watching; her figure backlit and haloed, a servant at the altar of knowledge. Spying a dusty red binding on the lower shelf, she pulled at the tightly wedged volume. Unbeknownst to her, her jostling caused a book to dislodge and tumble from its precarious position on the top shelf. Then she heard it – the sound of a sudden movement and leather against flesh. She looked up, surprised. “What?”

“If I startled you, my apologies.” The man in dark silk smiled at her, reached up toward the skewed shelf, adjusted it, and returned the book. His voice was like his clothing, soft, rich, almost beckoning. The dim light fell gently on his shoulder length, straight, brown hair and shoulders. Impossibly wide shoulders, it seemed to her. Her breath stole back from wherever it had disappeared; her eyes widened as she took in the sight: how picturesque. His muscular frame seemed not to stretch as he reached to resettle the shelf, setting the books straight. Watching from below, comprehension dawned.

She eyed the angle, and a shudder wracked through her. The whole shelf could have toppled were it not for this curious stranger. She had to clear her throat before she could speak, her mind filled with images of heavy, sharp-cornered objects landing on her head. “Thanks for the rescue.” She said. Then, with a grin, “Quick hands.”

“Only when there is need, I assure you.” He smiled, teeth reflecting bright in the dusty air, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her. He nodded in what might almost have been considered a bow, turned sideways and was gone. One moment there, the next he’d vanished as though he’d never been.

“Who was that masked man?” She whispered as she made her way back to her table. Bookless and knowing she would be unable to concentrate on her project, she hurriedly packed her notepad into a well-worn backpack. She quickly glanced at her watch and swore. I’m late! Ah well, Kristen will understand.

Maneuvering between the student-laden tables with practiced ease, she rushed out the door towards the coffee shop to meet her best friend. As she hurried along the walkway, she couldn’t help but remember her encounter with the silk-clad stranger. She was a grown woman on campus with all these bright-eyed, earnest children, but he was no child. His presence, warm voice and those piercing blue eyes… she shivered beneath the memory of his gaze, then blinked back into reality as she spotted Kristen sitting at a table. Her voluptuous, brown haired friend looked up, and began waving what appeared to be an ornate invitation in the air.

“Engraved, even. I believe we’ve been summoned.” Kristen made a mocking bow, offering the card. she read the details, one brow rising. Tonight?

“Nothing like adequate notice, eh?”

“I think we’re B-list,” Kristen shrugged. “But still, it’s a chance to hobnob with all the professors!” Cheerfully lecherous, she wiped imaginary drool from the corner of her lip. At least she hoped it was imaginary; with Kristen and men, she was never quite sure. It was probably only more of her eternal jesting; Kristen joked about everything.

“Speaking of men,” she smiled softly, “you wouldn’t believe the one I just met. Or didn’t meet, actually. He rescued me.” Her eyes unfocused at the thought of him, and she sighed. Kristen leaned in close, eager for details. Her dearest friend might not have been a nun, but she wasn’t known for her accessibility, either. It was a long time since she had even dated – too busy with her books and research to look at the smorgasbord life presented before her. If someone had made an impression, Kristen wanted to hear every detail. Her lips parted, her breath racing, as she sought words to describe the… apparition? What was he, anyway? Where did he come from? She had heard his arrival but entirely missed his departure and did her best to explain to Kristen the force of his presence, his grace, his speed. It was much easier to describe his physical details than the depth of his blue eyes or the sense of stillness surrounding him.

“Sounds yummy,” Kristen exclaimed. “Hope he’ll be at the party!” Taking back the invitation, Kristen waved it before her face like a Southern belle’s fan. “Nothin’ like a well-dressed man,” she drawled, “less it’s two or three of ’em.”

She smiled and sipped her coffee, saying nothing, but her thoughts mirrored her friend’s. The adults on campus numbered few enough that their mystery man might well have been invited. I do hope I see him again. His eyes can’t possibly have been that… what? Somber? No, not that. Serious – even when he smiled, but there must be a better word. Deep, compelling. Magnetic, even. She shook her head wryly, and tried to pay attention to Kristen’s chattering, something about clothing, no doubt, or shoes. “Hypnotic, that’s the word,” she said out loud to no one in particular, stopping Kristen in her tracks. She could almost see those eyes again, feel them on the back of her neck. It felt… comforting. She stared into the distance, wondering. Kristen looked at her, sensing something she wasn’t ready to face. A connection, perhaps? She realized she was obsessing and tried to change the subject. “Well, enough of my day. How went last night’s date? Tell me about your latest male adventure; I could use something to get my mind off nearly becoming a rather gruesome campus ghost.”

“And the man who rescued you, of course. You know, it’s just like you to let him get away.” Kristen’s lascivious grin was spoiled by the frothy mustache she wore; cross-eyed, she glared at it, twisting up her mouth.

“Do stop licking your lips like that; some man might get the right idea about you, and then where would you be?”

“Where every cat longs to be, my sweet innocent little bookworm. Completely in the cream.” She batted her eyelashes outrageously to make her laugh.

“So, your date?”

“Oh, it was perfect. A perfect catastrophe,” Kristen grinned. “I told you he was in the adult education program, right?” She waited for her nod, all the while choking on her own laughter. “Well, we finally got around to talking about what he studies.” Giggles began to emerge, making her slur her words. “That yummy little Brad-Pitt-in-Thelma-and-Louise I was drooling over is here studying to become a priest!”

“Oh, no!” she sat back and burst into laughter of her own. “What did you do?”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t a very long night.” Kristen’s mischievous brown eyes glowed with delight, knowing she had set the hook deep this time.

“Don’t hold back, I want the lurid details. You know I won’t stop until you tell me. Make it easy on yourself,” she said with a devious grin.

“Oh, I merely suggested that an in-depth knowledge of temptation and sin might help in his work. I even offered to give him a guided tour.”

“You didn’t!” It was purely rhetorical; knowing Kristen, she was quite sure she had. “What did he say?”

“I thought I heard ‘get thee behind me’, but he was running the other way, so I could be wrong.” If she hadn’t finished her coffee, she’d have choked.

Kristen arrived in plenty of time to help her pick out a dress to wear for the party; she knew her friend well enough to have expected the minor panic. “Relax, girl, the cavalry’s arrived!”

“I hate not having any notice!” She didn’t even turn from the closet, frowning as sourly as possible with her naturally smiling face. “It’s a cursed and blasted official function; why don’t women have black cutaways? No fuss, no muss… ” she sighed.

“No imagination,” Kristen laughed, and reached for a silk blouse, the lace inlay not daring, but very attractive. “He wore silk, yes?”

“Yes,” she smiled, as his image rose before her again. Not that it had really vanished in the hours since she’d seen him. She looked at the top her friend held, nodded, then reached for a flowing skirt and heels. Kristen plopped down on the bed, her mission complete, and asked for more details about the “mystery man.”

“Nothing more to tell. I’d never seen him until today. You know how often I’m in that library; if he were a regular, I’d have seen him before. And trust me, he’s not the sort of man you miss.” she grinned at her friend. “Not that I can think of one you’d overlook. But this man, well, all I can say is yum. Mysterious blue eyes that look darker than possible against skin the sun might never have touched, brown hair, silk, very well-cut clothes, and a smile,” she trailed off, one finger tracing her lips, smiling. Kristen tossed a pillow to get her started again. “God, Kristen, that smile! I can still see it. I don’t have the words—”

“—you?” Kristen interrupted, “she, the woman voted most likely to be found in bed with a book? she, who’s never found a fact she didn’t like? You don’t have the words? Stop the presses, this man must be something else.”

“But he is – something else. That smile of his, it seemed to be saying something, but I don’t know what. Like looking at hieroglyphics, you know? You can tell there’s meaning, but you can’t make it out. His smile was like that.”

“Hmm.” Kristen rose to circle her friend, checking out the ensemble. “But he’s just a guy, right? Nothing to get all excited about?” She laughed. she wrinkled her nose, but joined in, and they left for the party.

Ah, the wonders of an academic party. As far as she could tell, it consisted largely of mid-level wines, imported beer, uninspired hors d’oeuvres, and the scintillating conversation of untenured professors holding forth on their specialties. she found a corner with a couple of like-minded friends and began to chat about the latest sci-fi blockbuster. A few film studies people drifted her way, and the modern lit folks, and a few renegade philosophers. When the group migrated to the center of the room, she detached herself, backing into the corner again, not hiding, just looking around. Intent on her survey, she failed to notice the number of men seeking after her, nor would she have believed it even if Kristen had pointed it out. She didn’t think of herself as a magnet for the opposite sex, though she did concede that men asked her out from time to time. Never the right man, though. Never one who seemed as interested in her as in himself.

As she scanned the crowd, her mind returned to the stranger in the library. Bad enough he’d swallowed her entire afternoon, but now she realized she was searching for him at the party – every face, each set of shoulders, searching for one particular combination. Should she be angry with her mind, or her heart? And if her breath caught in her chest when she thought she saw him, if she stepped forward without meaning to, she could ignore that. She once again shifted her gaze— It’s him! She wove through the crowded room as quickly as she could, but by the time she made her way to where she’d seen him, he was gone. Stifling a growl as impolite, she found a wall to lean against for a moment, and cast her gaze idly over the milling intellectual hordes. He was easy enough to spot this time, holding up a wall of his own, smiling in what she swore was a challenge.

Her eyes narrowing, she pushed back into the fray, dodging the waving hands and splashing drinks absently, intent on her goal. It was almost a dance. He caught her eye from time to time, winked once, saluted her with the drink he held. But he never moved toward her, never stayed in one place long enough for her to catch up to him. She’d have given it up as not worth the effort if it wasn’t for his eyes, his smile. And the fact was – his game was more interesting than the party. She stopped to chat with a colleague once or twice, collected another drink, nibbled crudités, and kept an eye on his last position. He wasn’t there, he’d done that disappearing trick again, but she was sure she’d be able to see him if she stood where he had been. One deep breath for luck, and she looked around. He was close enough to catch her drink when she jumped.

He held a glass, ice cubes merrily twinkling as they melted in an amber liquid. No plate. No napkin. A student came by with a tray; he waved her off idly. she cocked her head as she stepped close. “No little meaty things in dough? Or crumbly unidentifiables? Why, sir, your host would be appalled.”

“Our host,” he nodded a greeting, though it hardly seemed necessary after the game of cat and mouse they’d just played, “is aware of my… tastes. I see no need to consume for consumptions sake. Do you?” she sipped her drink, and glanced at him over the rim.

“What do you consume?”

“Only what tempts me.”

“That answer still covers a lot of ground. Are we talking food, aphrodisiacs, or your long-lost love?” she took a long sip of her drink, wondering if she’d gone too far to have mentioned love so soon. But the stranger didn’t give her time to worry.

“Aphrodisiacs? I must be on campus; scholars are always intrigued by such topics. Shelves upon shelves of books cater to the subject, when the only true aphrodisiac is love.” A flash of teeth and he went on, “Or so said King Solomon, and he should have known. Seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, but he died for want of love.” He stilled for a moment, and the very air around them seemed hushed, but then he smiled again.

“Sounds like a thesis topic to me. You don’t by chance specialize in Theology, do you?” she asked, thinking back to Kristen’s recent date. He grinned and shook his head no.  
“I read a lot and have had more than a few misspent years on campus – a breeding ground for earthly pleasures.” Wow, is he smooth.

“I’m surprised we haven’t met before. What did you say you did? And your name?”

“M’ lady, like you, I am one who seeks knowledge.” With another of those not-quite bows and a brilliant white smile, he was gone again. she had barely even blinked.

“Okay,” she muttered, “what was that? And what’s with that ‘lady’ shtick?” She looked around, searching for him, but he was gone, nowhere to be seen… I chase you around the room like a schoolgirl, and you can’t even give me your name? If you weren’t interested, why the game? That goes way beyond mixed signals. Unsure whether she wanted to laugh or scream, she looked around for Kristen. Finally spotting her, predictably surrounded by men, she asked for a refill – something sweet, sticky and dangerous. She moved into the throng to be bright and witty for a while. Like Kristen always says, the best cure for a man is a herd of them. Still, she felt that heavy blue gaze.

Ivar leaned against a wall, eyes closed, hands clenched at his sides. His teeth ground together, like old stones wearing away. That one is not for you, he told himself, knowing he was not listening. He had been watching her for weeks. Everything about her drew him: her smile, the way she carried herself, the books she read, the subjects she studied. He’d followed her whenever he could. But he’d made no attempt to meet her; there had been no need. He wasn’t seeking anything she could provide. Or so he told himself, over and over again. Sometimes he even came close to believing it.

He’d seen the book fall, and moved to catch it; that should have been the end of it. But here she was, and unless he was imagining things, she’d been looking for him. He’d been so tempted to lean in close, to whisper an invitation, to draw her away from the protection of the crowds. He’d been certain she would have gone with him. Leave her to her studies, and her writings, and her days. She is not yours. His mouth filled with longing and hunger; his teeth ached. Has she gone yet? He craned his neck around the corner, found her instantly, surrounded by men, laughing. Like a flame dancing in the breeze of moths’ wings, as they fight for the privilege of dying in her embrace. A solitary flame, he knew from observation, kept behind glass, untouched, but he growled at the sight anyway. His hands made talons at his side, lips pulled away from a fierce display of sharp white teeth. She is not yours. Was the thought for the men around her, or for himself?


	2. Chapter 2

“Was he there?” Kristen looked at her friend, idly shredding napkins and cards containing the night’s phone numbers and email addresses, the breeze carrying the scraps away. 

“You know – the mystery man?”

“Briefly,” she sighed. The night air was cool on her heated cheeks as she thought of his game, and his last disappearing act. She remembered his eyes, and the way the air felt different when it passed by him. Quieter, somehow, even after he had gone. “Long enough to flirt with me for a while, and confuse me. He spent an hour giving me the world’s most intense come-hither stare, but every time I’d get to where he’d been, he was gone again. Finally I caught up with him, or he with me; I got as far as asking his name, and he blew me off.”

“Which explains the major flirt routine; I wondered.” Kristen grinned sympathetically. “So he’s not on the menu. Sorry. See anything else you liked tonight?”

“Kristen, I couldn’t see anyone else. All I can think about is him. And yes, I do know how I sound, thank you.” They walked a few steps in silence. “Damn it, if he wasn’t interested, why not just say so? And if he was, why run away?”

“Was he running?” Kristen sounded like she was about to choke on a laugh; she smiled a reply and shrugged. “If he was at the party, he’s one of us, here on campus a lot. What d’you say we go hunting? Chase him down, make him explain himself? Maybe have a little fun?”

Her eyes widened at the thought. Part of her disapproved; if he wasn’t interested, that was that. But of course, she wasn’t sure about his lack of interest. Part of her enjoyed the idea a great deal. She wanted to ask him some pointed questions, yes, but it was more than that. A hint of vengeance, to repay him for having brushed her off. A bit of challenge, to find one so good at hiding. A game to match his. And there was the pull of those eyes, a lure she still felt though he’d vanished hours ago. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, her smile spreading, “Let’s chase him down. Who says women have to wait for men to come calling? We’ll beard him in his lair.” Her mind filled with the memory of him, dark silk suit glowing against a pale wall, glass raised in salute. Let the games begin.

“And I get to keep all the other men we find,” Kristen laughed. “My harem needs restocking.”

“They don’t make ’em like they used to, hmm?”

“They must not,” Kristen mimed a pout. “I keep breaking them.”

Though the hour was late, they ended up back at her place for a planning session, thinking of what they’d say to other people as they asked about their mystery man, where they’d look and when they could get together next to compare notes. It was silly, yes, a game, but they intended to enjoy it. Kristen somehow managed not to ask her intent if she found her man, partly out of friendship, largely because she thought she knew. Lust at first sight, she diagnosed, and a major case of it! She could hardly wait to see the man who’d inspired it, and threw herself into the plans for the hunt, even looking around the night-emptied streets on her way home.

Ivar was long practiced in avoiding searching eyes; he stepped back as she passed, unnoticed – though he could have reached out and touched her. When she had gone, he resumed his perch, staring up at her windows. She is not yours, he told himself for the thousandth time. Still, he watched nearly until dawn.

The next night the two friends met briefly, intent on the search. Or at least, she had been, until she caught sight of her friend. “Kristen, what is that you’re wearing?” Her friend’s hips swayed with each and every step beneath tight hip hugger jeans that quite seductively accented Kristen’s voluptuous body. A T-shirt with “No Restrictions” plastered across the front seemed only to cover the essential bits, and the finishing touches were the fashionable sneakers and ball cap perched slightly off-center to match the owner’s personality.

“Camouflage,” Kristen laughed, twirling to better display her outfit. About the best thing she could think to say was that it was up-to-the-moment in student style. The look on her face spoke volumes; Kristen just laughed again. “So I can better stalk your prey in secret,” she explained.

“You don’t expect me to dress like that.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, little miss bookworm, I don’t. You,” she grinned, “can stake out the library. I’ll take the quad.”

“Bet I have better luck than you do.” She found it hard to imagine their mysterious dark-clad figure lolling on the grass with the students.

“Depends on what you mean by luck.” Kristen winked.

The hunt had begun and she had found a park bench that was secluded, but still close enough to the library to afford a view of the front and back doors. She was convinced her mystery man would journey here sooner rather than later. It was only a matter of time. She’d been sitting for a few hours, when a student approached holding out a folded slip of paper and a small bag. “For you,” he said.

Curious, she took both, and set the bag beside her, unfolding the note: The night can be cool. Take care.

There was no signature. Inside the bag was a cup from the coffee shop, filled with her favorite coffee. Laughing at Kristen’s dramatic flair, she sipped her coffee, eyes glued to the library doors. Silently, blue eyes watched, unblinking – watching as her skin flushed with the warmth of the drink.

The following day, Kristen disavowed all knowledge of the late-night delivery, waving a handful of business cards as proof of her own activities around that time. “Trophies,” she called them. Far from being frightened by the mystery of the coffee delivery, she became more determined to find the man she hunted; if it had been him, how had he known her favorite drink? And why bother? Perhaps tonight would be the big break.

The evening was a little cooler than the previous night and she rubbed her hands on her arms to keep warm. Although the bench offered a full view of the library doors, it had little else going for it. She had only been there twenty minutes when she looked around, startled by a soft murmur of sound. She gasped. There on the bench beside her was a man’s wool, silk lined coat! “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Laughter came in answer, from more than one voice. A group of students came around a bend into view, scattering calls and genial curses and humor as they passed. She waited for them to move on, and then settled back into her seat with the coat around her shoulders – back at her post watching. After what seemed like hours, she gave up peering into the dark, removed the coat, folded it carefully, and set it on the bench. “Thank you,” she whispered into the night air.

The next day, on her way to the library, she craned her neck this way and that, looking for her quarry. The set of his shoulders, the way he carried his head were burned into her memory; she compared each passing man to her mental image. They failed to match. All that day, and the next seven; she searched, her books more or less ignored. She’d sought far into the night more than once, but on this evening she had a dinner party to attend. A boring occasion, doubtless, but she had agreed. She pasted on her official-function smile, just for practice, as she rose from the study table and headed for home. Her thoughts turned to questions she might ask; she knew who would be at the dinner, and there were more than a few tenured professors, teachers and researchers who had been around for years. He did say he had – how did he put it? Ah, ‘a few misspent years on campus.’ Perhaps someone will know who he is. Her step lightened. The game’s afoot! From the shadows, blue eyes followed. Dim light glinted on a smile.

That night, an hour into the party, came the big break she’d been waiting for. With a bite of food halfway to her mouth, she paused. “I’m sorry, what was the name?”

“Ivar something. He doesn’t teach, I don’t think, though I have heard rumors of him doing some sort of research. And publishing, of course.” She nodded.

The first law of the academic community: “publish or perish.” Perennial students, professors, dilettantes; they all sought their name in print, and the more obscure the journal, the better, or so it often seemed. If he had a publication or two to his credit, he could be assured entry into campus society for the rest of his life. No honest work required. “Do you know his field?”

Her seat-mate thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m tempted to say history, but I’m not sure. Sorry.”

“No, at least you’ve given me a place to start. Thanks.” She put her fork down, all interest in food forgotten. Tomorrow I hunt the history department. Tonight I call Kristen. Maybe she can make her pet computer search the admin files for a first name. It felt like hours before she could make her escape. Prepare to be found, Ivar! You cannot hide from me forever.

Oddly, Kristen’s computer search yielded nothing; too many “Ivar” possibilities. Undaunted they went back to hunting physically. she had vetoed Kristen’s latest suggestion, walkie talkies, but hadn’t managed to talk her out of code names. “This is Tracker Two,” the whisper came hissing over the phone line. “Possible sighting of subject departing the library at closing.” She choked, torn between laughter and groaning.

“That figures! I swear, the man knows I’m looking. I spend the day asking the history department questions, and he holes up in my home away from home.”

“Ha! Your truest home, you mean. If they’d let you keep Frenrik in there, you’d give up the apartment in a heartbeat.” Kristen also knew her other vice. Even though Kristen couldn’t see her, she nodded – she did enjoy the library, the peace, the quiet, the history and knowledge of the ages. “How about dinner? You know, at that other distressingly dreary place you like so much?” She thought for a moment, then laughed.

“You mean the place with the largely female wait-staff? Meet you there.” But she sighed as she put down the phone.

She did wish she could find Ivar; it didn’t much feel like a game anymore, though she hadn’t yet told Kristen. Kristen still enjoyed the playful “hunt.” But it had grown more serious than that to her, or perhaps it had always been. She needed to speak to him, to ask him what secrets lie behind his eyes. She dreamed of those eyes each night, and occasionally felt them on her. Almost physical, a gaze as heavy and warm as a touch.

Ivar watched as Kristen hung up the phone. He’d had no trouble listening in on the conversation, and one eyebrow rose, almost touching his brown hairline as he heard the word, “tracker”. Is this a hunt, then? And I the prey? A low chuckle began in his chest, and escaped into the cool night air. So, she wants to find me. He had wondered, when he’d seen her outside the library watching the door, but now her friend’s call confirmed it. Perhaps I should let her find me. Show her what it is she is seeking to catch. But not yet. I believe I’ll play a bit first. With a brilliant grin against the night, he made his way to Dugger’s, waiting outside until Kristen and her finished their late-night repast.

You do realize you’re acting like a child, don’t you? Well, what of it? Mortals have second childhoods; I’m long overdue. Nyah, nyah. He grinned again as he caught sight of the two women. Then he walked briskly across the parking lot and turned to face them, waiting until he was certain he had been seen before scurrying around a corner. Ivar’s keen hearing caught her curse as he vanished once again. Hunt me, will you? I am not so easily caught as that! He shook with silent laughter, but his humor faded quickly. Part of him wanted nothing more than to walk toward her, hands outstretched. She is not for you. He moaned, imagining the taste of her, breathing deeply as he caught the scent of her in the air. The night hid his grimace from any eyes.

The game continued. Her asking questions, but finding few who knew even the name of the brown-haired gentleman. She frequently spied him from the corner of her eye, but he was never there when she turned. She took to walking in circles, hoping to catch him following. He might have been a figment of her imagination for all the success she had. She saw him, truly saw him, only in her dreams. 

Ivar saw her, though. Silently laughing as he followed often close enough to touch, delighted in risking discovery, secure in his own abilities, knowing she was no danger to him. Except that he couldn’t seem to stay away; not since he’d first seen her. What was it that captured him so? Was it her eyes that seemed to fill up the sky with each gaze? Perhaps the glistening of her hair or something less physical…

“So, what’ll it be tonight?” From her park bench perch, she spoke aloud, half whimsy, half convinced that she was truly being watched. “Too much to hope for an actual conversation, I suppose. But you might show your face, just so I know it’s you.”

Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned just in time to see him turning a corner, going away from her. He was too far away to have heard her unless she’d shouted, too far even to see his face. There was no doubt in her mind that it was him. The usual smile fell from her lips. If he was that far away, he couldn’t have heard me. Right? But it didn’t feel like just a coincidence. It felt as if he knew she was hunting him, like he was playing games. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or scream.

She stared out over the sea of rushing students, seeking the face she had seen so few times in waking life. His brown hair and pale skin would stand out in any crowd, but certainly among these bright, new, not-yet-disillusioned children. He was nowhere she could see, or feel. Lately, she had often felt watched, observed, but the feeling came and went; she felt no phantom gaze now. Logical, rational, modern women do not enjoy being followed, but part of her longed for the feeling to return. That same part that convinced her that Ivar was the watcher, although she had no logical, rational, modern reason for the idea. The same part which half-seriously hunted for him now, knew that perhaps he was watching her – or was she imagining it?

A frown sat oddly on her usually-smiling face, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit. Why am I obsessing? She bit her knuckle, did her best to frown around it. I’ve met the man twice, caught glimpses of him half a dozen times! Okay, he’s good looking, and those eyes… those timeless eyes. But still, he’s a man, not a god walking the earth. Pull yourself together!

Annoyed with herself, she shook her head. The library. Her favorite coffee. No more daydreams. And no more of this foolish hunt, either. You’re a grown woman, act the part. Shifting her bag on her shoulder, she began to walk across the quad, bracing automatically against the tide of students rushing, lemming-like, toward class. She knew she would keep looking for him.

A holiday weekend came and the campus seemed to empty like magic, leaving a few earnest-faced students and a number of pale blinking academics. She resolved to spend her days in the library, using the peace to catch up on research, work left unfinished while hunting. She tried to stop looking – searching for strong shoulders and that intent blue gaze – and imagining that feeling at the back of her neck. By the time the students returned from their brief break, she had almost recovered from her case of “Ivar the mystery man” whiplash. But nothing had really changed – she was still searching and he was still nowhere to be found.

The coffee-scented air reached out to welcome her as she jostled her way through the shop. Smiling softly at overheard conversations from her vantage point at the counter, her mind was focused on caffeine and evening plans. But then a familiar movement caught her eye: a man leaving. Ivar? She turned, but he was gone. She’d seen only a glimpse of him, the back of his head, his shoulders. It was enough; she was certain it had been him. What is he, a magician? She gaped, frustrated and disappointed, rolling her shoulders to ease the sudden pain in her neck. The counter person came to take her order. “I’ll have one coffee please. Biggest cup you’ve got.”

I missed him again. If it wasn’t for this line, I’d chase his ass down! He’s doing it on purpose. Like coyotes who play with trappers – teasing them. She shook her head, gently, telling herself she was being even more foolish than usual. He doesn’t know you’ve been searching for him. Hunting the poor man like a dog. Or something wilder. Something dangerous.

She and Kristen had a standing movie date for whichever romantic comedy had the hottest star. She really didn’t much care what they saw, the point was to spend time together. No matter the state of the world, or her own heart, Kristen could always make it seem better. She had a favorite T-shirt she often wore, usually covered with a jacket so that she could flash it at odd moments. It read: Defy gravity! Smile. A perfect joke for a college town. Tonight, Kristen had dropped the slogan attire for more faux-military wear.  
“Oof! Enough perfume, Kristen?” She waved her hand in front of her nose, her face a comic mask as she pretended to choke.

“The latest in the arsenal; pheromones. You like?” Kristen struck a pose; the man behind the ticket counter stared.

“What are you trying to attract, a musk ox?” she made a show of choosing a new place to stand. “Downwind,” she explained, trying to keep a straight face. Failing, she chuckled her way through the line, random laughter lasting until they’d taken their seats.

“So, anything new and exciting in your world? Something male, perhaps?” Kristen winked at her, teasing.

Kristen often claimed that men were like popcorn: yummy, probably not good for you, but oh, so much fun. No matter how often she had told her she wasn’t looking for a man in her life, Kristen never seemed to believe it. she reached for the bucket between them. Real, non-metaphorical popcorn. The theater grew quiet as the lights dimmed.

At the back of the theater, Ivar lurked. He wasn’t there to see the movie. He was there to watch her. He smiled when she did, sighed, strained his ears for her last exhalation. His mouth filled with the sweet taste of longing as he realized that the most potent aphrodisiac of all was her smile. He watched her as he had every night since they’d met, careful to duck away from her field of vision. She seemed to have slowed her pursuit of him the past few days, no longer staking out the library door at closing each night. He tried to tell himself he was pleased to have been forgotten. Old as he was, he had never learned to lie to himself. He watched as she tossed her head, laughing at the romantic interplay between the characters on screen, her hair parting and framing the outline of her neck. Ivar’s fangs extended, denting his lip in his thirst and hunger.


	3. Chapter 3

Ivar sighed, breath raising a puff of dust from the shelf before him, books long untouched; lost to time. Ancient technology, he thought wryly as he glanced at the titles, pre-databyte. The stacks were seldom wandered by students anymore, given over to teachers and researchers and others behind the times. Ghosts. Memories lived on past their proper moment. As have I. He shook his head at the morbid turn of his thoughts, leaned on the shelf, carefully, lest he disturb the settling dust. She seemed unaware of him watching, her head bent beneath overhead fluorescence, books piled high all around. Ivar knew that she was writing only because he could hear the scratching of her pen on paper. He could see nothing of her but the top of her head, light reflecting off her hair.

Squinting, he could make out some of the titles, dry tomes. He wondered what she found within them that was worth spending hours reading when she could be outside, dancing in the warm, bright sunshine. Then, mortals always seemed to take such things for granted, believing there would be time for basking in the light later, when their work was done. His heart might not beat, but it still ached, heavy with longing to tell her to look up at the beauty of the world. He sighed again, stirring time’s ashes, not even bothering to brush them from his sleeves. If you shun the light anyway, perhaps you’d join me in the shadows? A predatory smile crossed his face, sharp teeth a warning, but, No! He closed his eyes. She is not for you. Another look: I can watch her, at least.

She looked up from her notes, her searchlight gaze seeking her watcher. Damn it, someone’s staring! I can feel eyes! Seeing no one, she went back to her reading, but her shoulders were tense for some time. She’d been feeling the same way off and on for months, more at night than during the day, alone in quiet buildings and in the midst of crowds. Overactive imagination, she told herself, but even she didn’t believe it. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she tried to focus, but her mind would not stay on the words before her, roaming instead to a solemn blue stare heavy with secrets. Stop dreaming! You’ve barely met the man! And if he knew you’d been trying to hunt him down, he’d be running away from you, not staring.

She wasn’t listening, and she knew it. Sighing, she gathered her notes, deciding that work would have to wait. Maybe I’ll run into him. At least I can watch the moon rise, stretch my legs. She looked around again, saw no one, and shook her head. Enough. She tore a page from her notebook, scrawled a few words, turned away. Grinning half in challenge, half in self-mockery, she strode from the room into the dusk.

Ivar hurried to the table, picked up her note: Had enough of hunting and stalking and shadows yet? Why not come into the light? He threw back his head and laughed. Oh, lady, I do wish I could! He sauntered after her, note in hand.

The night was grey, no colors, merely shades. Night’s darkness slashed by darker shadows, trees and lampposts, the hulking figures of cars on the dark road, beasts at rest, or seeming so. Perhaps they would charge, leap upon the unwary, perhaps merely stare, unblinking, as she passed. Down, girl! It’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that. But the feeling of imminent danger persisted, the air rough against her skin, warning. She shivered. The quad was empty, the students having scattered for dinner, dorms, study groups, or less wholesome pastimes – she neither knew nor cared. She listened to her own steps echo forlornly.

Decorative streetlights did more for ambiance than visibility, and the stars twinkling above seemed farther away than they were. Suddenly feeling alone, she noticed that her phantom watcher seemed to have gone. I should be happy for that, at least, she thought, breathing quickly, nervously. I’m not imagining eyes anymore. Her usual smile twisted. No, now I’m imagining cars coming to life. I watch too much TV. Her hand reached into her pocket, felt the reassuring shape of the siren she carried, cool metal canister and wide-mouthed plastic funnel. Her steps wavered, first hugging the side of the building she passed, then tracing the curb; she couldn’t decide which felt safer. Hold up your chin! Don’t walk like a victim! Distant words from a self-defense class crept up from memory, and she did her best, but now the feeling of being watched was back. Only changed. It’s not him. Not Ivar. Who or whatever usually watched her, this was different. She felt hunted, threatened.

Her hand gripped the siren tighter. She crossed the street, walked half a block so quickly she was almost running and crossed back. Mouth dry with fear, she turned a corner, headed for a wider, better lit street, and safety. The blocks had never seemed so long to her; she began to count the steps beneath her breath. It can’t be more than a hundred more! One, two… twenty, twenty-one… seventy-three…

“Give it here.” Words like stones grinding. A dark shadow, solid before her blocked her path. She yelped, dropped her bag, and stepped back. One hand clutched against the siren, still in her pocket. The speaker loomed close, tall, broad and menacing. His voice was a growl. She could see little of his face beneath the bill of a filthy baseball cap, but that little glimpse beat her worst nightmares by several degrees. His skin, rough, lumpy and smeared with dirt was pulled back into a scowl seeming to promise pain and shame. Dead eyes. She took another step back. A squeak lodged in her throat. “Pockets. Now,” he grunted coldly.

One huge hand came forward, fingers spread wide. The other descended, scratching at her, and she shuddered. With the dim light from overhead she could see his nails, dark, begrimed; his stench was incredible. What do I do? Her thoughts bounced around. Be good, cooperate. Run. Kick. Scream. Give him my money and hope that’s all he wants. Try to talk to him. Flee. Fight. He smiled. Worse than the scowl, it made her blood run cold. His breath was a foul cloud creeping toward her, wretched with old cigarettes and stale beer. It was the final insult, that stench, then her fear melted away, replaced by rage. No question now of running. Fight. Her hand shifted around the siren, fingers seeking the button. Finding it. She managed a smile of her own, perhaps a bit stiff, but real, as she jerked her hand from her pocket. Closing her eyes, she braced for the sound, and pressed the button.

The klaxon rent the air, so loud it was almost physical. Her eyes popped open in shock – she’d never realized it would be that loud! The mugger had clapped his hands to his ears. She took her finger away, and silence came crashing back, almost as startling as the noise. A heartbeat passed. Maybe two. Then footsteps, racing. She turned, relieved. The mugger moaned behind her, and she quickly turned again, holding the siren like a gun, aimed at him. He blinked tears from his eyes, saw her, held up his hands in truce. The light now caught his face and she saw he was younger than she’d thought at first. Barely a grown man. But still a monster. With halitosis. Her lips curled back into a sneer. The monster pulled his hands back. What, does he think – I’ll bite?

More footsteps, many of them, from another direction. She frowned, turning her head toward the sound. Two security men, running quickly. So who owned the first set? She blinked and saw Ivar. Her heart leapt to her throat. It’s him!

Ivar’s thoughts raced as he tracked her. He followed the scent of her on the air. Her perfume, her shampoo, a personal aroma he’d know anywhere. This though was different, her fear tainting the passing breeze. He moved quickly, unobtrusively through shadows and cursed himself for not having stayed closer to her. The scent of her fear grew sharper. His own fear rose. And anger, as well. If any have harmed her…

A brash sound tore through the air, nothing of nature, too loud, shocking. Teeth shining in the dim twilight, he moved toward it, idly wishing that hearing had become like breathing, optional with his death. His blue eyes gleamed like a hunter’s light as he sought her, finding her standing, triumphant, yet still afraid. Her hands shook, but her aim was steady, holding a small object like a gun. Before she could turn and see him, Ivar flashed a menacing glare at her quarry – who wisely stepped away. Her head craned around, seeking something, and their eyes met. He felt her gaze like a beat of his long-dead heart. So warm! So knowing. His hand stretched out to the nearest tree, and he leaned against it, finding strength in its solidity. Part of his mind was free to be amused at his weakness, the rest engulfed in relief that she was safe. She can take care of herself.  
The thought was not wholly pleasant; part of him wished he could have played the hero. What a fool I am! Still, it would have been a pleasant scene: Him sweeping in to rescue the damsel, her falling into his arms in gratitude. Shaking his head at the turn of his fantasies, he blinked his eyes, feeling her gaze on him still. I am glad that you are safe, he thought. Her smile might have been an answer. He turned to go. She held his gaze, shook her head slowly, hair glistening in the starlight. How can she possibly see me? he wondered. Mortal eyes should see only darkness, shadows. She wasn’t even squinting, not even when he pulled back, huddling against the tree trunk. Half-reluctantly, he stepped away from the tree and took a step forward. Was she smiling? He was unsure. He swallowed.

The young security men looked at him suspiciously as he seemed to appear from nowhere. Dark clothing and his timelearned stillness made him almost a shadow himself. She sighed his name beneath her breath. They’d met twice, spoken only a few words, but she felt she’d known him forever. If she could have asked for anyone on earth to comfort her after the attempted mugging, it would have been him. She’d seen his face for a moment, but then he’d pulled back, and her heart had fallen. To see his long strides eating the ground between them made her smile in relief. His muscular build pleased her eyes. Her mouth was dry, though not from fear.

“Hello,” he whispered softly. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The sound of his voice was like silk running along her spine, cool and delightfully shivery.

“Ivar,” she managed after a moment; she did not know how her voice sounded, but the security men exchanged a regretful glance behind her back. Taken, it said.

“Are you all right?” Sharp teeth dented his lower lip as he forced himself to be silent, waiting for her to tell him what had happened. Thirst rose as he glanced at the mugger, now bound with the silly strip of plastic law enforcement used in place of metal cuffs. Be grateful you did not touch her, he thought, and such was the force of his steely stare that the mugger looked his way, blanching at what he saw.

“I-I’m fine,” she stammered, blinking at the suddenly fierce expression on Ivar’s face. “Really.” She stepped closer to him, looking up into his eyes. “Ivar?” His gaze met hers, and softened.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.” A startled burst of laughter escaped into the night air.

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“I…” Even in the dim light, Ivar could see her flush. “I thought it might be you. Stalking me.” Her mouth twisted into a poor semblance of a smile.

“And so you prepared yourself?” His tone was odd, half swallowed laughter; he nodded at the siren still in her hand.

“Well, yes – no. A woman doesn’t like to be stalked. Mostly.” Her cheeks flushed hotter, and she took a step back.

“Mostly,” he purred, teeth shining as he smiled. He took a step forward, bringing himself close enough that a careless movement would have put them in contact. “When, pray tell, does a woman like to be stalked? Or a man? Or you, in particular?”

“Careful, buster! I have a siren, and I’m not afraid to use it!” Her heart raced with her excitement. Adrenalin, that’s all. Nervous laughter filled the night air.

“The true death of chivalry,” Ivar intoned, “comes when women no longer accept courtesies from men.” He raised one eyebrow to accent the pause. “Would you sound the death knell with that weapon of yours, or might I see you safely to your destination?”

Try as she might, she couldn’t hold back her smile. After a brief interview with the security men, she nodded to Ivar, who offered her his arm. They’d walked half a block before he thought to ask where they were going. She chuckled and leaned against Ivar – partially for stability to keep from stumbling, but more, because she wanted to. His smile faded as their eyes met, his face growing serious.

“Lady, you do not know me yet.”

“True enough,” she nodded, tilting her head back. “We’ll have to do something about that.” Feeling daring, she reached up and sank her fingers into his brown hair, and pulled him closer for a kiss. Caught at last! His mouth was cool and sweet and lingered just so against her own. A pleasurable zing shooting from her toes to her head. “Oh, my,” she sighed against Ivar’s chest when she pulled back, heated cheek resting against his shirt, cool as the night air, and soft as a caress. “Mmmmm,” she purred contentedly, then raised her face to his. “I don’t know how you do that, but I’m impressed!”

His voice rumbled in his chest, feeling like a cat’s purr against her face. “What is it that I do, then?”

“I…” her voice trailed off as she bit her lip. I started this, didn’t I? “You kiss me like I’m the only thing in the world.”

“And you’re not?” Her knees went weak.

“Ooh.”

“Lady?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just, you’re not like other men.”

“No.” Had she looked closer, she’d have seen the sadness in his blue eyes. “Would you prefer I go?”

“You said you’d take me home.”

“Then, shall we go?” His voice was smooth, almost without emotion. She loved his accent but could tell it used to be much heavier. His speech was formal, old-fashioned; perhaps it was only that. She looked up, trying to decide what to ask. His smile was polite, nothing more. She looked away.

“We shall.” She cut the words off short, turned away from him and began to walk quickly down the street.

“Lady.” She blinked. But he was behind me! He stood before her, arms folded, completely blocking the sidewalk. How he managed that was a mystery to her as well; his arms weren’t even stretched out, but she could see no room to move by him. “Please, lady. You must know I find you… interesting.”

“Interesting? Oh, great. What every woman longs to hear!”

“What would you have me say? Shall I compare you to Cleopatra, Helen, Aphrodite? Venus, perchance?” His arms unfolded, broad shoulders eased. Slowly, each syllable precise, 

“Diana, mistress of the hunt? Or perhaps Freya, my personal favorite.” His smile outshone the stars; she flushed again. “Only tell me, and I shall.”

“I know I’m no Helen of Troy, thanks.” Her mouth twisted, not quite a smile, nor yet a frown. She felt a strange combination of irritation, humor and embarrassment with a ragged edge of desire she couldn’t ignore. “What am I, a subject for your research collection?”

“No, you are not. But you’d be the jewel of any.” Eyes intent, he leaned forward to kiss her brow. Her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, gentle and intimate, and she sighed. 

“When I’ve delivered you to your door, will you invite me in? Siren and all?”

There was a pause, “I don’t think it would be right,” she sighed regretfully. “I mean I really don’t know you. Not at all. Not even your last name.”

“Then, can we meet tomorrow night? I shall lay out my heart for you, if you desire.” Ivar’s gaze was steady, no hesitation, no fear. He meant his words. A small shiver ran down her arms.

“Yes, I would like that very much. I have an early meeting but other than that I’m open.” They walked slowly, neither eager to part, but as every path must end, they arrived at her front door. He kissed her goodnight passionately, with no restraint, leaving them both panting and wanting more.

“Lothbrok,” he told her, smiling. “My last name. Sleep well, and safely.”

“You, too.” She leaned against the doorjamb, watching as he turned and strode away. She looked out into the night, the window a frame, so that she felt she was staring at a painting. Not exactly ‘Starry Night,’ is it? The light she could see came from other windows, streetlights and passing cars. The sky looked dark enough, but the few twinkles were more likely passing airplanes, or satellites than stars. So why do I suddenly think it’s so beautiful? Her lips curved up into a smile. Because he’s out there, somewhere. She stared for what might have been hours before going to bed.

She tossed and turned, her sleep restless. She dreamed of the mugger, only this time, she had no siren. Grubby hands reached out to grab her, to drag her into some unknown hell, and then Ivar was there, brown hair reflecting the light as he bent to her, pulling her free from the mugger’s grip. His face was solemn, but not cool, as he asked if she felt safe. She melted into his arms, sighing, and the mugger disappeared. Nothing existed but the two of them. In her sleep, she moaned.

Outside her window, Ivar sighed. He longed to go to her, to comfort her, to caress her, but he could not, and so he remained outside watching and listening, his mouth filled with the bittersweet taste of longing. The first flush of dawn chased him away. Before he left, he thrust a note beneath her window: I have watched from the shadows; you are brighter than sunlight. It might have been more poetic than literal, but he meant it truly; hers was a warmth that would not burn him to ash – though it did seem to have seared its way into his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

“The hunt has ended,” was all that she had to say when Kristen picked up at the other end of the line.

“Details, girl! Where’d you find him, how’d you run him down? Did you trip him to the floor and have your way with him or what?” Kristen crowed into the phone with triumph and glee.

“Definitely ‘or what.’ And I’m not sure who found whom.” Her voice was pensive as she sketched the details of the attempted mugging and Ivar’s ever-so-timely arrival. After assuring herself that she was okay, Kristen focused on the important parts.

“So, when do you see him again?” she closed her eyes, seeing Kristen as she was likely posed, head back, brown eyes glittering, phone between chin and shoulder.

“Tonight,” she sighed, remembering his kisses. “How hopeless am I?” How long ’til night comes?

“Oh, I don’t think you’re ready for the white coats just yet. You had a fright, fell into some guy’s arms, perfectly natural. And it must be fate, or how could he have been there just when you needed him?” She flushed.

“Mm. Well. Did I mention the note?”

“Note?” Even over the phone, she could hear Kristen narrow her eyes. “Spit it out in Mama’s hand. What note?”

“I was in the library. Thought I could feel someone’s eyes following me again. You know… So I wrote a note, put it on the table before I left. Asked him to meet me. You sure about fate?”

“Unless he’s a stalker. Is he?”

“I don’t know.” she thought about the coat, the coffee. The feeling of being watched. “But I think he knows, that we’ve been stalking him or trying to.” Gnawing on her lip, she waited for her friend’s response. It didn’t take long.

“He knows?” she thought wryly that she could have heard Kristen’s response even without Mr. Bell’s oft-cursed invention. “How? What? What did he say?”

“Something about Diana. The goddess of the hunt.”

“He’s perfect for you.” Kristen said nothing further and just hung up the telephone.

The sun had set, but red still stained the sky. Very early, at least, by Ivar’s standards. He paced before the library, waiting for her, wondering what he’d say to her. Wondering if she’d sense his differences before he found the courage to tell her. How long would it be before he kissed her again? Once he told her what he was, the game was through. I’m acting like a child, he mused, not a man of however many years. He refused to dwell on just how many had passed, but surely he’d learned by now not to fret so? His feet made no sound as he paced, long years of care grown to unconscious habit. Alone, he did not bother to breathe. The distant sounds of traffic and the songs of night birds were all he could hear in the moments when people were not nearby. He smiled when he heard the footsteps, for he’d know the sound anywhere. She came. He turned, hands out to greet her, his eyes drinking in the sight.

“How’d you know it was me?” She tilted her head to the side, hair moving in the quiet breeze.

“I heard your step.” Ivar said. Ah, Lady, will you forgive me, when all is done? He knew he would not tell her tonight, but would instead play the human suitor, as he had the night before. Just one more night. Or two.

“Good ears!” She smiled, eyes wide and startled.

“Good enough, for the most part. Would you care for a coffee?” He nodded in the direction they’d have to go, and she nodded. A college’s coffee shops are like hostels of old, open to all, offering rest, comfort, company and safety. Too, caffeine fuels the populace. “And what questions have you for me this eve?” How much have you noticed, or guessed, as you hunted me?

“How old are you?” It had bothered her since they’d met. He seemed no age at all to her, or all ages, from the depth of wisdom in his blue eyes. Older than she, certainly, but she couldn’t decide by how much. A year or two. A decade or two. A century. Don’t be ridiculous!

“What is it that they say? Ah, yes. Old enough to know better, and young enough still to have the energy.” He offered only half a smile, and she knew he’d give her no other answer.

“Hmph.” But she smiled a little herself, amused. At least I know he won’t ask me the same! They took their drinks outside, enjoying the moon and the stars, and talked until the small hours of the morning. She told him quite a bit about her past, her family, her life, really; he had a way of asking questions that seemed so sincere, so unobtrusive, that she found herself telling him things she’d never said aloud before. When she began to yawn despite the caffeine, he walked her home again, and asked, again, if she’d invite him in.

“I don’t know,” she answered, leaning against him. Another shirt cooled her lips, his strength held them both upright.

“Then I shall wait until you do,” he whispered into her hair, and bent to kiss her again, and stole her breath. He was gone from her view before her heart had slowed.

“Oh, my,” she sighed. Hunting him might not have been the most mature idea of my life, but if I’d known he could kiss like that, I’d have searched forever!

Man-made hues of tan and gray intermingled with nature’s green. The sunlight seemed no color at all, yet gave birth to all the others. She looked around, her smile bright enough to rival the sun itself, happy with all the world. On her way to the library, she meandered, stepping from the path to look up into the crown of a tree, sneaking around a couple of students engaged in earnest conversation. Their eyes locked onto each other, giving away their true feelings. I know how you feel, she thought in their direction. Isn’t it lovely? Her mind tried to inject a note of sanity.

How much do you know about him, really? Eyes wiser than his years, wonderful kisser, voice like a summer breeze, warm, rich and comforting. Great. Where’s he from? What does he do? How old is he? she wrinkled her nose, brushing her concerns away. The sun was shining, and she was happy. And when night fell, she had a date with her mystery man. Secrets and shadows in his blue eyes, and cool kisses that turn to fire. What more can a girl ask for?

The pheromone perfume might or might not have had any effect on men; Kristen seldom lacked for a date when she wanted one. She pretended to choke when they met for coffee that day, wiped her eyes, feigned a swoon. Kristen retaliated by joking about her friend’s wardrobe.

“Wow, you’re all dolled up!” Not one to present airs, she sported a T-shirt and shapely jeans that matched her figure. She just shrugged; what she wore was appropriate, comfortable, and suited her for the day she had planned. Everything she needed. She did intend to change before seeing Ivar, but Kristen didn’t need to hear that.  
“Beats camouflage patterns. Besides, I found what I was hunting for.”

“Go ahead, gloat. Me, I haven’t found anything worth keeping.”

“But you’ve had lots of practice at field-dressing.” Kristen groaned.

“Go away.”

“Not until you tell me what you’ve been up to, other than plotting new ways to pick on me.”

“Babysitting,” Kristen groaned, sounding almost serious. “The powers that be decided I should lead a seminar, teach the computards where the on switch is.”

“Compu—?” she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard her friend properly.

“Computards. Those devoid of compuhension. People like you, bookworm, who think knowledge should be hard to find and covered in dust.”

“Yeah,” she grinned, “but without us bookworms who can’t use computers, you and yours would have to find real jobs.” Kristen pretended to think about that, planting her chin on her hands.

“You know, you may have a point. Imagine – venturing out into the real world!” She hummed for a moment. “There’d be more men.”

“That’s it, look for the bright side.” She lifted her coffee in salute.

Bright sunlit colors swirled in Ivar’s dreams, a woman lit by black and green, surrounded by golden sunshine. A man like a shadow behind her, also haloed by sun. She was smiling, happy, laughing up at the shadowy figure. Not me. She was gazing at the man, the mortal, unharmed by sunlight. Ivar watched as the mortal plucked a rose from the hedge, brushed it against her lips, then his own. Ivar could hear no words over the pounding of two hearts. Hers, and her lover’s. She deserves to be happy, in the sun. Not the twilight you offer, but full day. Such beauty should not be dimmed by shadows. The scene progressed: a picnic.

She fed strawberries to the man. His lips grew stained, and she licked the tint away. Would you ask that of her, with what you drink? The voice in his mind was cold, harsh, hissing. A lash of truth. They rested, snuggled close, waiting for dawn. Their hands clasped, dark with the kiss of the sun. But the man’s hand faded and stretched, becoming Ivar’s own pale long-fingered hand. The sun rose, and his skin charred and fell away. Bone, exposed, crumbled and fell apart. Her face twisted in disgust, and she shook his remains away. He woke.

That is what you can give to her. His heart hardened. She is worth so much more. Though he knew his words were true, he knew too that he would not heed them. She is so warm, so bright. And it has been so long… His fangs throbbed, as his mouth filled with bittersweet yearning. I shall tell her, truly I shall. But not yet, please. He stared up at the ceiling, listening to his thoughts. They were too loud, making his head ache. For a change, he spoke aloud.

“She is a modern woman. Perhaps she might understand?” Ivar shook his head, wincing at the pain; he did not want to tell her. He wanted to hang on to the fantasy for just a few days more, pretend to be a mortal man. “What are you afraid of? That she won’t understand, that she’ll turn and run?” He took a deep breath, for effect, or to stall a moment longer. “Or is it that you think she might accept you for what you are? Afraid of a happy ending. The great and powerful vampire, afraid of ending up in a fairy tale. Amazing! Bram Stoker’s rolling in his grave!” After a minute, he began to smile. He couldn’t help it. She would be most amused.

“Moiety?” she slanted a look up at Ivar; they had been talking of nothing in particular, sitting in the coffee shop, sipping their drinks as the real conversation took place in long glances and the soft touch of hands. But his choice of word caught her ear; she didn’t think she’d ever heard anyone use it before. Ivar shrugged, nodded. Waited for her to voice her objection, if objection it had been. “Is there some reason you sound like an old book?” He blinked.

“When we met, you were kind of formal, and the night,” her cheeks heated, remembering. “Well, you called me lady, then, and often since. You sound like you’re living in a fairy tale or perhaps a knight left over from Camelot?” He chuckled, a warm, intimate sound that barely reached across the table.

“I’d have made a poor Lancelot; I do not like to share. Galahad, perhaps, questing forever. He was a man I might have understood, if you believe the tales.” His smile failed to lighten the sorrow behind his eyes, and she found the combination irresistible; she leaned across the table to stroke his cheek. His eyes half-closed at the touch, and her breath rushed out, seeing him so suddenly vulnerable.

“What do you quest for?” She wasn’t sure she spoke aloud, but he answered.

“My lady’s happiness.” His eyes opened, and met hers; the glance spoke more than words. “For that, I would hunt the world over.”

He walked her home that night, as he did every time they met. They stopped on the doorstep for a prolonged goodnight. The intensity and fervor of their kisses grew almost to the point of no return. But she was still uncertain; something kept her from inviting him in. Am I dreaming him? she thought, dazed. Ivar’s loving attentions were so different, so much more knowing than the men she had known before. His muscular arms held her secure without feeling confined, soft lips drew her higher than she had ever gone – ever even dreamed. Long-fingered hands caressed the weight of her breasts, subtly stroking her nipples through the thin fabric of her blouse. His hands were precisely the temperature of her flesh. Oddly she felt textures and movement, but no heat. Impossible sensations, incredible. And when he leaned in and gently bit at her neck, light exploded behind her eyes followed by a rush of pure desire.

“I should go,” he whispered. She felt his breath on her skin and shivered. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she sighed. He shifted her weight easily, opened the door and waited for her to open eyes she didn’t remember closing.

“Sleep well, m’ lady.” By the time she found her voice to reply, he was gone.

They met every night for a week, walking the campus when most people had already gone to bed. They sat watching the moon rise and set in its phases. They talked about everything, or so it seemed to her. But during the day she realized it was really Ivar asking the questions and her answering. As flattering as it was to have the attention and someone so eager to hear her opinion on so many topics, she decided one night to bring a list of things she wanted to know. That evening, sitting on a park bench, he was patient enough ─ at first. Smiling, he answered simple questions simply, twisting the truth a bit here and there, but never quite lying. Then the questions grew more pointed and Ivar’s uneasiness became obvious.

“Do you know, I’ve never seen you eat anything?” She kept her voice light, but it was an effort, considering his verbal acrobatics.

“Yes.” Calm, cool. Unconcerned.

“Yes, you know?” Softly, girl, softly! More flies with honey, and all that. “Well, why not?”

“I have allergies.” He shrugged, strong shoulders beneath the inevitable soft shirt. He never sweated, she’d noticed, no matter how energetic the walk, or the kisses, became.

“Your allergies permit you coffee, and whiskey, but no food? Try again. Maybe the truth?” His blue eyes met hers; solemn and intent.

“If you are certain you wish to ask, and to be answered, ask again.”

“If? Of course I am! Why haven’t I seen you eat anything? What do you live on?” Ivar took a deliberate breath, set aside the small motions he used in public in order to go unnoticed.

“Strictly speaking, I don’t. Live.” She rose from the park bench, swallowing hard. He had never looked so pale to her, so impossibly still. Things she’d refused to notice suddenly leapt to her attention – her mind no longer able to deny the signs. “I’ll not harm you; you must know that by now.” His voice was as soft as before, but no longer cool; his sorrow was almost heavy enough to touch. One hand reached out, entreating, beckoning.

“No. No! Just stay away!” she took a very large step backward, her breathing quick and shallow, one hand groping behind, the other outstretched to ward him off. While he admired the effect of hyperventilation on her form, Ivar had no desire to see her frightened, especially not of him. Blinking slowly, he spread his hands flat against his thighs, leaned back, trying to look settled as a stone. “Wh-what are you, exactly?”

“You know.” His voice was still soft, but certain. If she’d not known, she’d not have been so scared.

“You can’t be. It’s not possible!” Shrill, just this side of panicked. He shrugged, miming unconcern.

“More things in Heaven and Earth.” She snorted, a most inelegant sound.

“What about Hell? Don’t come near me.” She spun on her heel and ran. He nearly followed, but refrained, smelling her tears in the air. If she cried, all hope was not lost. If she cried, she cared. He would wait. As long as there was hope, he would wait for her.

Great! What do you do for an encore? He’s either mad or a monster; either way, not someone for happily ever after! She paced the floor, driving her dog Frenrik to distraction. Too restless to sit for more than half a minute, she walked endless circles to nowhere, her thoughts as looped as the path she wore into the rug. If he’s lying, he’s a creep. If he’s not, he’s crazy. Unless it’s real, which makes him a monster. The doorbell was a welcome interruption, even before she opened it to her best friend’s concerned gaze.

“Hey, Kristen, what brings you this way?” she waved her friend in, trying to act normal.

“You’re up late; I saw your light on. Everything okay?” She moved her shoulders, and Kristen nodded knowingly, brown locks shaking. “Man troubles; I thought so. Details?” She barked out a laugh.

“You wouldn’t believe me. I’m not sure I do.”

“Oh, goody, interesting man troubles. The interesting man?” One finger tracing her bottom lip, she sighed. A deep sigh, with nothing of fear to be heard.

“Oh, yeah. He is certainly that.” She shook her head. “Interesting.” Sighing again, this time in frustration, she stared down at her hands, twisting around her drink. “Like the old Chinese curse, you know? Interesting times.”

“Do go on,” Kristen purred, reaching down to scratch Frenrik. “I’m already intrigued. Are you going to keep him?”

“Frenrik?” she looked up, confused.

“No, silly, Ivar. The man who makes you sigh just thinking about him?”

“Oh, him. No. I don’t know. I mean, I wish I could, but he’s nuts. Or dangerous. Or both.” Frowning, she lifted one shoulder, let it drop again. Probably both.

“Dangerous? Better and better. If you decide to dump him, tell him to give me a call!”

“You watch too many Mae West reruns. I’m serious! He told me… something.” It didn’t feel right to she to tell Ivar’s secret to another, even her best friend. “If he was lying, well, then he’s a liar. But if he wasn’t, he’s not safe to be around.”

“So who wants safe? Darlin’, if you want to hide away from the world, feel free. You could buy Frenrik a few friends, be the crazy dog lady. You remember, the one we used to make fun of when we were kids? Life is for living; take a chance!” Shaking her head, Kristen did her best Mae West voice. “Or let a real woman at that bad boy.”

“Funny.” She did the only thing she could, and threw a pillow at her friend. But she thought about the advice for weeks, watching for Ivar everywhere she went. She didn’t see him, didn’t even sense him, and finally had to admit that in an odd way she missed him, missed feeling watched. Feeling cared for. Whatever he was, she was certain he cared for her. She wrote a note and put it on her table in the library. The shadows seem darker without you. Meet me tomorrow night? Later that day, when she went back to check, the note was gone. Somehow, she was sure it hadn’t just been cleared away. She went to bed that night smiling, counting the hours until the next day’s sunset.

The next day passed slowly but eventually it was time. “Lady.” The whisper came from the shadows; she turned quickly, smiling nervously.

“Ivar?”

“Who else? Yes, lady, it’s me.” He stepped forward, stopped far short of where he wanted to be, two feet and more of space between them. Their eyes met for a moment; he thought hers seemed pale.

“How old are you, anyway?” Her voice sounded high in her own ears, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. It’s Ivar, and you asked him to be here. He shrugged – her ears caught the rustle of silk against skin – and was still again. Unnaturally still, obviously so, now that she was looking. “My earlier answer still stands.”

“Don’t do that. If I’m – If we’re…” she looked up at the darkening sky. “If this is going to work, I need answers. Please?” She met his eyes, a deeper shade of blue tonight, tinged with new sorrows.

“Alright. Ask what you will.” He held his hands carefully, seeming to know that sudden movements would frighten her away. Ivar waited for her to lead him wherever she wanted to go. She walked toward the library, always at home there, stammering her questions until they made no sense even to her. At last, frustrated, she shook her head, waved her hand in the air, and stopped midword.

“What’s the deal with the whole undead thing? You said you don’t, strictly speaking, live. So what do you do, technically?”

“Exist, I suppose.” He shrugged again, soft rustling of fabric in the dark. “I am undead; that is, I did die. It just wasn’t as permanent for me as for others.”

“Others? I mean, are there others? Like you?”

“Yes. You’re avoiding the word. Does it distress you?”

“No, I’ve always wanted a vampire for a lover! What do you think?” Aghast, she put her hand to her mouth, trying to push back the shout. She looked around, but no one was near that she could see. Wearing a shamed apology for a grin, she turned to Ivar. Ivar finally broke a grin and laughed, his head thrown back, brown hair reflecting the stars. “It’s funny to you? I shout your secret to the four winds, and you laugh?”

“I’ve always felt there were more. Than four winds, I mean.” His hand moved to pat hers; she flinched away, and his face fell. “Lady, tell whomever you wish, if you wish it; most won’t believe you, and many of the rest have no fear of my kind. My danger comes mostly from scientists, who would wish to… well, not dissect me, not exactly the correct word, but something of the sort.” He chuckled again.

“How can you laugh?” Her voice was nearly strangled, too many emotions blocking her throat, but she forced out the words.

“I spent my tears while I yet lived.” His whisper was the saddest thing she had ever heard, and she slowly wrapped an arm around him. Her heart thudded in her chest, but the need to comfort him was stronger than her fear, at least for a moment. He sat still as a statue, lest he frighten her further. When she pulled away, a little awkwardly, he slanted a look at her. “Lovers?”

“You know what I mean.” She blushed, put her hands to her cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “But no, I do not know. Why did you ask me to meet you?”

“Because I missed you.”

“Ah.” His smile was as bright as the sun, enveloping her in its sudden warmth. Still he did not move, holding himself inhumanly still. “Damn,” she murmured, and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were as cool as the night air, until her own warmed them.

“When I was a child,” she mused, staring out over the darkened horizon, “I never wanted to see behind the scenes, to know that the stars weren’t lights strung across the sky. It’s only magic when you don’t know how it’s done. But then I learned to learn, and to love learning, and so now I look everywhere, high and low.”

“‘Born to… follow virtue and knowledge,’” Ivar whispered. “Dante.”

“I don’t know about virtue; it’s rather out of fashion these days.” She smiled. “But knowledge I follow, yes, wherever it leads.” Her smile carried a hint of challenge. She took a breath, her questions at the ready. His kiss chased them from her mind. Hours might have passed, or only moments, she neither knew nor cared. So caught up in her own thoughts, she was startled when he asked a question.

“Is that why you returned to me, once you knew what I am? Your thirst,” his smile twisted, “for knowledge?” He stilled; she thought of it as holding his breath, waiting.  
“You know why I came back.” Their eyes locked, smoldering. “I could not stay away.”

Each evening found herself eager for Ivar’s presence − her days she spent dreaming of his kisses. He was in much the same shape, murmuring her name in his sleep, reveling in the memory of her. He took her to his favorite places on campus, the hidden stairs and secluded enclaves, the most beautiful trysting spots. They visited every sculpture and statue; he enjoyed seeing her beauty grace the art. But he was respectful of the gargoyles, explaining that some of them were not quite what they seemed. Everything seemed different when experienced with Ivar.

One night they were on a rooftop, gazing at the stars. Ivar was in the middle of a poem, breathing the lines between kisses, each kiss traveling further down her neck. A sudden chorus of dogs broke the mood, changing her sighs to giggles. “Ah, the creatures of the night. Don’t you wish they’d learn some new tunes?” Ivar grumbled something into the back of her neck, making her quiver delightfully. Her laughter vanished as quickly as it had come. She leaned back in his arms, his unmoving chest the most comfortable seat-back she’d ever encountered.

“I’ve never realized before how loud a silent night really is.”

“Hmm?”

“Insects. Traffic in the distance. Wind. Machinery of sorts. Occasional animals.” She laughed softly. “My own heart.”

“A beautiful sound,” he murmured. “Perfect music.”

“Some people listen to recorded sounds, you know, nature. Whale song, or the ocean waves breaking on the shore. They say it relaxes them, or energizes them, or something. Is a heartbeat like that for you?” Ivar seemed to refocus his eyes, staring out into the night, thinking. She was almost asleep when he replied.

“A heartbeat, no. If I’ve not fed, it might make me hungry. For the rest, it’s just background noise. Like breathing. Everybody does it; it’s not worth noticing, unless it’s fast or heavy and saying something.” She nodded, understanding, and he went on. “Your heartbeat, now; that’s different. When I’m near you, when I can hear it, all’s right with the world. And when I touch you,” he ran a finger down her neck, making her shiver. He chuckled, and breathed into her ear, “your heartbeat tells me what I do to you.”

“An unfair advantage,” she stammered. But she knew well enough what she did to him, even without his pulse racing to tell her. She could tell from the warmth of his embrace and the taste of his kisses, sweet as honey wine, intoxicating. The sharp edges of his teeth, so much more exciting than she had ever dreamed.

Tired from too many late nights spent with Ivar, too many days pretending life was normal, she laid down for an unscheduled but badly needed nap. Frenrik curled by her feet at the end of the bed as she slept, and her dreams, at first, were as peaceful as the picture they made. But the difference between dream and nightmare is easily bridged, and her pleasant dream of Ivar grew dark, as she imagined him with a woman from his past. She was young, young as Juliet in Shakespeare’s Tragedy. And she had her eyes. In her dream, the girl died, and Ivar heard, and came, but not to mourn. He dug up the corpse from the cold ground, and fed from her. Her eyes opened, pain to wake the dead, but the corpse could not move, nor scream; it could only suffer. That dream faded, but was replaced by another, and another, and in all of them Ivar was feeding from her. He had not said he’d need to, nor ever talked about feeding. Ivar seemed to grow uncomfortable when she brought the subject up. She worried that he was keeping something from her, that he snuck off in the dead of night to steal from people, or bought corpses from mortuaries or back-alley men, or something worse, something she could not even put into words from within her mind.

Books and movies and television had lots of theories, but not many facts, beyond the one: vampires drank blood. Ivar walked and talked, so he must need energy; obviously, he didn’t photosynthesize. So where did he find his food? And why wouldn’t he tell her? As she drifted off again, she dreamed of a street wreathed in fog, with mist creeping around corners. Street lights that diffused into a dim setting. There was a woman in high heels and a thin dress, with her own figure and hair. Nervous, walking quickly, craning her head this way and that, then running, panting and terrified, finally at the end of her rope unable to run further, she turns. The scene focuses on her face; hair, beaded and bunched, the fog and her sweat combine to leave a matted mess of hair smeared across her forehead. Her surroundings close in and then go eerily silent. Through the darkness can be heard the definite measured footfalls of her pursuer; muscular and determined. From the shadows, blue eyes turn to twin orbs of fire seeking its prey. Finally a figure steps out of the gloom and the two meet, predator and prey. For a moment, nothing happens, the calm before the inevitable storm of violence and death.

Suddenly, she makes a desperate attempt at escape only to be effortlessly pinned. He smiles, a cruel sharp-edged threatening smile, complete with a pair of oversized fangs, and a cold look in his eyes. Fangs flash brightly and a savage expression of joy and contempt sinks slowly towards the bared throat. She feels nothing at first as his soft kisses throw her off guard then he begins tearing at her throat like an animal. She thrashes helplessly, as her warm blood flows from her body to his. The predator’s skin grows flushed while hers pales. Finished, he slowly pulls his teeth from her neck, and a growl can be heard as he gruffly lets her fall to the ground.

She sat up in bed, eyes wide and staring. “He wouldn’t!” Her voice sounded shaky in her own ears. Clutching Frenrik tightly for protection, she waited for her breathing to calm. “I’ll have to talk to him,” she whispered to Frenrik, who seemed to blink an affirmative response. “Someplace public, don’t you think?”

She was nervous all night. His poetry failed to calm her, his hands feeling cool − cold as the grave, making her wince. “Ivar.” Lips dry with nerves, she tried again to ask how he fed. And failed, again. It just felt so personal! Taboo, like discussing bathroom habits. Forbidden.

“Lady, whatever concerns you, you must know I’ll do all I can. Speak, if it shall ease your mind.” His eyes were serious, his smile gentle, encouraging. His hand rested on hers, supportive. She felt it slowly warm, part of her relieved, part more on edge than ever. If only he were alive, he’d be perfect! She sighed, pulled back her shoulders, and made her voice firm.

“I think… that is, I don’t think this is going to work. I’ve tried to accept this, the whole vampire thing, but I worry. I mean, if you invite me to dinner one night, am I your guest, or the main course?” She didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, so insensitive. All she really wanted to know was how he fed… He drew back, offended.

“I see. Well, allow me to relieve your worries. I’ll not offer such an invitation. You need not wonder anymore.” And without another word, he got up from the bench and walked away, the line of his back firm, determined. Hurt. Even the undead have feelings. And tantrums.

“Well, you look three days dead,” Kristen chirped, brown hair bouncing a bit behind her words. “Give up on the dangerous man?”

“Something like that,” she said, waving her friend inside, and gratefully accepting the coffee Kristen held out to her. “So what’s new in your life?” Kristen’s smile had little humor, but much determination.

“Not a chance; you’re going to tell me exactly what happened. And you might as well start now, because you know I’ll wear you down anyway.” Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes, wondering what to say.

“He had secrets. I didn’t feel safe not knowing. When I insisted, he walked.”

“He dumped you?” Exaggerating her shocked expression, though her bright brown eyes were sympathetic, Kristen patted she’s hand. “Just like that?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. He got mad at something I asked, and just walked away. The worst part is, it was probably avoidable. I should have phrased it better, but I was scared. I don’t even know if it was really something I should have been worried about. It was just something he wouldn’t tell me.”

“If he’d tell you now, and it wasn’t something important, would you still date him?”

“Yes!” No thought required; she knew that answer.

“Don’t tell me,” Kristen rose. “Tell him.”

Stroking Frenrik one last time, she walked away. Thanks a lot, she thought, next time, try telling me something I don’t know! Absently pushing her hair behind her ears, she picked up a pen, and tried to think what to write. Somehow, ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem to go far enough. Are there enough shadows to cover my blushes? I was wrong. Meet me? She copied her note over and over, put copies on benches where they’d sat together, wove them among tree branches and placed them on every table in the coffee shop. And then she went home and waited, hoping for a knock on the door, determined to wait until dawn. Around midnight, a tapping came on the window.

“I like your blushes,” he said, and invited her outside.


	5. Chapter 5

“Do you really need an invitation?” She looked up at Ivar, curious, barely afraid. She was getting used to not hearing his heartbeat when she pressed her ear against his chest, feeling his skin the same temperature as the air, or what he’d recently touched.

“Would it not be polite?” She sighed and hit him gently.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes. For private homes, yes. I do not know why, but it is so. Oddly, apartments and dormitories do not seem to have the same protection.”

“Why not?”

“Ask Buffy,” he smiled.

She cited many of her sources when asking questions, and he delighted in teasing her about her television viewing habits. ‘A line of Vampire Slayers, indeed,’ he’d said. ‘A shame there isn’t one.’ She’d been shocked, until he told her some of the horrors he’d seen over the years. ‘Though ’tis not only my kind who prey on yours,’ he’d said solemnly. ‘There are other kinds of creatures, and as you know, among your own kind are cannibals and worse.’ Her skin had felt as cold as his for a while after that conversation.

“Well, okay then, I invite you in.”

“I am honored,” he whispered against her lips.

Soon after dusk one night, the streets emptied; the people chased or washed away by a sudden storm the weather forecasters had, as usual, not predicted. Ivar simply shrugged, not being vulnerable to illness or chill, and went for a walk. He might have been alone in the world; it suited his mood. He was worried, again, about her. Dare I ask her to share my unlife? What other choice is there for us? For a moment, he entertained a fantasy of living as a movie vampire he’d once seen, in Blood From The Red Cross.

It featured neat little packages of blood, sterile and sealed. Like those foolish juice boxes. I wonder if they come with straws? He’d stolen blood from a hospital once, years before; the taste had made him sick. But maybe with some Tabasco sauce? His smile was wry, but genuine. This same night his feet led him to her; no surprise. For an instant, he thought of going to her, but the depth of his need held him back; he didn’t trust himself not to do something that would frighten her. Like sink his teeth into her neck, and drink until he could drink no more. Besides, he thought with a flash of humor as brief as the lightning overhead, I must look like a drowned rat. His mind conjured pictures of her likely response, though, the concern in her eyes, giving him blankets and towels and stripping away his clothes.

He raised his face to the night, fangs gleaming, as he struggled to control himself. Wind whipped raindrops fell like tiny missiles; he barely noticed. Nor did it register when the wind died away, the storm fading into a gentle, soaking rain. She noticed; she’d been staring out at the storm through her window, admiring nature’s fury. When the storm quieted, she saw Ivar’s dark form, his face raised to her room. She didn’t remember going outside, only the feel of his arms around her, cold and wet, but strong and welcoming. The taste of him, better than she’d remembered when they were apart. The incredible tender force of his kisses, melting her, teaching her to be something she’d never dreamed. He pulled back from her neck, tempted almost beyond resistance, but not wanting to do anything so different from the mortal lovers she may have had. You could give vampirism a bad name, he told himself, trying to ignore his throbbing fangs. A soft murmur begged him not to stop; his hands shook.

“Come inside?” He knew he should say no. But her eyes were warm, approving; he fell hopelessly into her gaze.

Her life settled into a new order, her days much as they had been, but less time spent wondering what do with her solitary nights. Fewer evenings were spent with Kristen, who made digs about her ‘mystery lover’, but seemed to understand. She napped over lunch sometimes, or in the early evening, and Ivar seemed more than content to simply hold her while she slept in the early hours of the morning, before the threatening sunlight sent him chasing off to safety. For the most part, she was happy; smiling more, looking forward to her nights, content with her life. For the most part. She tried not to think about the rest.

She leaned against a tree, her mind miles from the quad and school. Or centuries. She dreamed, with her eyes open, staring at nothing, as the students passed her by. She imagined she was a princess in a tower, Ivar a knight come to beg her favor; she dreamed she dwelled alone in a cottage, and he came to her door seeking aid; she was a nurse in wartime, he a patient. All the scenes of history, and Ivar human in each of them, as warm as she, as mortal. The colors of her dreams were vivid, sun warmed, hot. He proposed, each time, each scene, and she said yes, and they lived happily ever after. Her dreams could not tell her what that meant, though – like the credits in a movie, they simply faded to an end. Alternately smiling and frowning, she dreamed of Ivar as she thought he might once have been, often hesitant, almost restless, eager and rushing and young and carefree, maturing only once he had found love. Found her. In her dreams, she was the inspiration and the reason for his struggle. To win, to survive, to change, to prevail, to seek. Mortal goals, all. She blinked, breaking free of her daydream. What are his goals now? He had told her, once, the object of his quest: ‘my lady’s happiness’. But surely that wasn’t enough to move him through his days? What makes you rise every evening, keeps you from seeing that last dawn? What is worth living – existing – forever in darkness, in shadows?  
The sun was setting, the skies tinted rose and tangerine, fashion designer colors, a scarf tossed across the horizon, softening the marks of buildings off in the distance. A veil drawn across celestial eyes. Hiding what, in color and shadow? And how do you ask that? Excuse me, why haven’t you stayed in the sun and committed suicide? She shook her head. I hunted him down, and found him. Now if only I could find some answers, too!

Alone in his hidden room, Ivar stared at nothing, blue eyes fixed firmly on his past, looking down the long and winding path he had taken to arrive where he was. An old-fashioned vampire in love with a modern mortal woman. How did I come here, to this? Such fortune at last, unexpected and such peril? Peril to his soul, if he still had one. He thought he did, but was not sure. I died, and rose, not Odin, not Christ, nor Lazarus, but spat out by the grave to stalk the night. Shriven, and yet unresting; the church speaks little of this, and what he remembers of his own religion didn’t speak of such things either. He had haunted enough of them through the years to be certain of that. The soul is the seat of suffering; surely then, I possess one in full. He mimed a sigh, but, unbreathing, made no exhalation.

His mind turned back the years, to the first man he had killed. He had been mortal then, still a child, and the killing at least half an accident. After all, they’d been excluding him since birth due to his being a cripple at the time. I slipped, he shook his head, still unresigned. And they named me berserker, and so set my feet on this path. Berserker. Drinker of blood. And he had listened, had gloried in the admiration in men’s eyes. He had done what he could to foster his undeserved reputation, sought out wise men and wizards, finding charlatans in each town they passed. One old man had spoken of ancient rituals, and his words were convincing; Ivar had followed him out to a crossroads at night. Ivar remembered the searching, the seeking, and foolishly yearning after any myth masquerading as vampire lore and legend. He had tried every ridiculous folk tale; each unlikely superstition followed to the letter. He had spent hours chanting over tree roots, reciting bad verse to the stars, spilling ale and mead onto the earth.

Rituals naked in the moonlight, painted in mud and daub. He had sought out his own death, unknowing, trying to bolster his image in the eyes of his companions, unwashed and ignorant as he had been. And countless the innocents who paid for my folly. His mind tried to shy away from the memory of his death. No; look and see what you imagine you might ask of one you love. Remember the agony, the horror done unto you. And by you, as well. He remembered his death, the pain, the draining. The confusion when he woke. I didn’t even know I had died! The old man from the crossroads eventually told him, after the sun’s burning rays touched his skin, after nights of draining vermin, the growing thirst. The older one had buried him, too, had called for the seer to shrive his grave. Though Ivar had had to dig the hole himself. He managed a meager smile at the memory: wrapping himself in a shroud, lying down. Shivering as the dirt hit his covered face. The smile fell away as he remembered what followed, the nights of hunger, fear fading into despair. The clawing. The rending. The young girl he scented even before he was free of the earth. The taste of her blood, like winter wine and rare lamb and life. How he must have looked, his fangs dripping venom, sweet and bright. Ivar would have cried, after, her corpse still warm in his arms, her life cut short to lengthen his second stay above ground, but his tears had all dried. Instead, he ran, and kept running.

He’d spent years doing his best to avoid human life. When he failed, people died, and he sorrowed, and moved on again. Gradually, over time, Ivar learned. And people ceased to die. Or at least, they ceased to die by his clumsiness. It took him a long time to give up killing for the taste. Is this a gift to offer a beloved? Unending stalking in shadows, eternal hiding from the night? Pain and shame and confusion and murderous thirst? No. I shall turn no one, no matter how many restless nights. I am not that much of a monster. Please Odin, I shall never be. His fangs dripped, the taste of emotions distilled, bitter and acrid. He drooled, ruining his shirt.

“Why a college campus? I mean, why stay in one place at all? Don’t you worry about being seen?”

“That’s why a college campus; ‘transient population,’ I believe is the phrase. Few stay here long enough to notice that I do not age. And really, students notice nothing at all anyway, too busy learning to look.”

“But there are professors, staff who stay. Don’t they ever see?” Ivar laughed, soft, warm, velvet tones.

“I could almost forget, sometimes, that you are not… as I am.” She looked at him, shocked; was he joking? Her heart pounded loud in her own ears. Her face must have shown her thoughts, for he nodded. “I know, but still, sometimes, for a moment, at least… Your eyes hold such wisdom, you see. And you wear your years as lightly as I do mine.” She blinked, waiting for an explanation. “Some of the long-time residents do mistake me, from time to time, for someone else, a student from long ago, a chance-met friend. These things happen. If you stay on a campus long enough, it’s quite easy to believe that there are only a few thousand people in the world, endlessly repeating.”

“They mistake you for you, you mean.”

“Indeed. I go away from time to time, come back under another name. A new publication, a thesis, a book. It suits.” His eyes traced her form, telling her how little he was thinking of names or the academic life. Her breath caught.

“But wait, back up, what did you mean about wisdom? And my eyes?”

“Can you not know? You look at me, see me for who and what I am, accept me; it’s a gift such as I have never thought to receive. You see to the heart of things – whatever wisdom I may have gained has come from the wrong side of the grave, I sometimes forget that yours was wrested free in the light of day.”

Throat swollen nearly shut around tears she would not shed, she choked out something about him sounding like an old book again. He nodded gravely, bowed an apology, and began to recite a poem – something Victorian, she thought. It didn’t matter; he was giving her time, and space, to absorb what he had told her. A museum walking, living history; what books we could write! She grasped desperately for humor, but the joke fell flat even in her mind. She let it pass, thinking of what he had said. “Ivar?” The recitation stopped mid-syllable; his face was turned away, but his shoulders leaned toward her in inquiry. “I’m not going to break down. I don’t think.” He turned, a gentle smile of encouragement seeming to lead her on. “You said, what wisdom you had, you learned after death. How – if it doesn’t bother you too much to tell me – how did you die?” His voice was even.  
“I was trying to impress my people.” Her laughter rang out through the night, startling the insects into silence.

“Oh, dear,” she dashed tears from the corners of her eyes. Not pain, not sorrow, simply from laughing too hard. Her breath came in great gasps, as she tried to calm herself. “It could have been worse, I suppose. Maybe if you’d done it to impress a girl!”

“Had I known many, doubtless that would have provided impetus as well…No, I was a cripple in Viking times…not the easiest of lives even as a Prince.” Wry smile lit by the stars, Ivar looked at the woman of his dreams, and he longed for daylight, to see her as she was meant to be seen. Radiant, challenging the sun itself with her brilliance, highlighting the depth of color in her eyes, the light bouncing softly off her hair. She cleared her throat.

“Does that mean that you, um, that you – no, sorry. Pretend I didn’t start to ask that.”

“Ask—?”

“Something unworthy of a lady. Though how you can call me one is beyond me. I curse. And demand things. And…” she trailed off, trying to remember what a lady actually did.

“You’ve married no knight, nor noble man. You wear breeches, and very well, might I add.” He leered gallantly. “You oversee no servants, not that there’s much call for such of late, nor have you offered your patronage to any passing bard, they being rather thin upon the ground these modern days. But, you use the language of your age, and express yourself well in it, and are unfailingly kind. The truest mark of a lady.” His eyes were almost free of sorrow for a moment, as he looked on her, taking delight in what he could see. 

“Even if you do persist in laughing at me, and telling me I sound like an old book.”

“A classic,” she whispered. “A treasure to survive time.” He moved to her, knelt before her, and taking her hand in his, raised it to his lips.

“My lady.”

“Tell me a story.” She’d asked him to stay until she fell asleep, though she knew she would wake alone. Her eyes were sleepy but still dancing as she made her request.

“All the time you spend with your nose in a book and you haven’t enough of your own?” His eyes were solemn blue, intent.

“It’s not the same. I want you to tell me a story. Tell me anything. I just want to hear your voice. Tell me limericks.”

“Limericks?” he laughed.

“What, in all your long nights you’ve never learned a limerick? There was an old man from Nantucket.”

“No limericks.” He spoke quickly, cutting her off; she raised a brow. “A story, alright.” He looked out into the night, a small gentle smile hovering, waiting to settle. “Once upon a time…” she giggled softly, and snuggled in close, resting her cheek on his chest. He rested one hand on her hair, pretended to take a measured breath and considered his words.   
A story. Very well.

“Once upon a time, in a village by the sea, a maiden lived alone. Her voice was sweet as the seawater, which was not yet salt; she sang to the selkies, and the sea men, and they to her. The melodies they wove flowed on the wind over all the land. Linnet, her name was, and her heart was as beautiful as her voice. To her unending sorrow, her face and form were not. The selkies did not notice, nor would they have cared, but Linnet loved a young man whose face was as handsome as his heart was cold. He spurned her advances and turned his tongue to tormenting her. Crushed by his cruelty, she ran uncaring to the sea, and threw herself in. She sang one last song for the selkies before she drowned, thanking them for their kindness, telling them goodbye. Her heart had been broken through no fault of theirs, and she would not live without it. The light had gone from her world, and she could not see in darkness, she told them, and sank to the bottom of the sea. They wove her a shroud of seaweed, mourned for her, and their tears turned the sea to brine. And still, to this day, they sing her songs, and the ocean winds carry them along.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, for his own love slept. He finished the tale aloud, speaking to Frenrik, amber eyes glowing, or only to the shadows. “The light of her heart was gone, and so she died. Only her music remains.” Dropping a kiss on her sleeping upturned face, he stilled. Her song is immortal, though she was not. Oh, lady, what am I to do? However hard he searched, the night had no answer for him.


	6. Chapter 6

She fidgeted. She knew she was doing it but couldn’t stop; picked things up, put them down, almost trampled Frenrik. She twisted her fingers in the curtains, pleating them. At last she spoke, her words rushing out in a single breath. “Do you want to go to a party?” Ivar looked at her, the question plain in his eyes. “Kristen’s throwing it,” she explained, “and I think you might be much of the reason.”

“She wishes to meet the man for whom you have forsaken her, I see.”

“I haven’t forsaken anyone! But, yeah.” She shrugged, a little uncomfortable at the thought; she hadn’t seen so little of Kristen in years. She did feel a little guilty when she stopped to consider it, but her friend was hardly the right person to invite along on a date with a vampire – or perhaps, too right. No way would Kristen have missed it, no matter how long it took me to figure it out. All the times he made my pulse race, and I never even noticed that I didn’t have the same effect on him! Ivar looked at her, that level unblinking gaze almost convincing her he could hear her thoughts.

“Would this party bring you pleasure?”

“You sound like an old book. I’d like to go; it should be fun.” And I’m tired of hiding you from her. She’s my best friend, and you… she bit her lip, not willing to finish that thought.

“Then we shall go.” Smiling, he held out his hand to her, and drew her upright. Humming a waltz, he began to whirl her around the room, slowly until she relaxed, then faster, until she was laughing and breathless. “Come with me?”

“Where?”

“To the roof. To dance beneath the stars.” One hand caressed her cheek, smoothing her hair back behind her ear, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Yes.”

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the roof, as easily as if she had been a child, though the kisses he stole along the way were hardly innocent. His teeth were exposed showing his excitement, but she had now become used to the not so innocent smile. She had never liked the old-fashioned ballroom-style dances before, but dancing with Ivar was nothing like the damppalmed torments of her youth. At first she worried that she’d step on his feet and tried to look down, to spare his toes at least, but he just laughed and dipped her, making her gasp. Rising easily, he led her gracefully across the roof, his hand on the small of her back sending messages through her skin. She moved with him as if they’d danced together always, thrilled at the pleasure to be found in his arms. It was not just being pressed against his body, though that too, but sharing something so basic, so wordless. She felt safe. I could spend all my nights like this. Here, with him.

The night of the party came, and she found herself more nervous than she could understand. What is wrong with me? I’m not taking him home to meet the parents! It’s a party. It’s Kristen, my best friend in the whole world. What if she takes one look at him and turns away? She’d seen those brown eyes go suddenly ice-cold before. I don’t think I could take it! And what if she knows, if she can tell? She wasn’t sure which thought frightened her more.

“Ready?” The voice came from the window, and she jumped, yelping.

“Don’t do that! You scared me half to death!”

“Half? Are you certain?” His blue eyes merry as she’d ever seen them, he grinned, and her knees went weak. “Shall we go, then? It would be impolite to arrive late; we are expected, after all.”

“I think the rules have changed since… whenever. Kristen’ll forgive us if we show up a few minutes later than we said.”

“Still, it is only good manners.” He offered his arm, and, rolling her eyes, she took it. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Music was pulsing through the night air, shaking the windows. There were people in clusters on the stairs, the porch, the balcony and spilling into the street. Young and old, male and female, casually dressed and formally attired. All were holding glasses and cans and bottles, plates and one another. Dancing and talking and laughing and milling about.

“Do you know all these people?” Ivar’s steps slowed as they approached, and she turned to look at him, concerned. Was his hearing too sensitive? Something else?

“No; that’s part of the fun. People bring friends, you know? It’s a party. Relax. If it’s too much, we’ll leave. No problem.” She took his hand in hers, feeling the cool flesh slowly warm. It didn’t startle her anymore; she could hardly remember when it had. It was just one of the things about him that made him who he was. Ivar stopped on the sidewalk, the slightest of frowns marring his face.

“You didn’t say this was a costume party.”

“It’s not; what do you mean? Besides, Kristen won’t care what you’re wearing, she’ll think you look simply edible.”

“She’s not the only one.” She followed his gaze to a woman dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein. She had the requisite height and curves to make the outfit impressive instead of ludicrous, and more than a few men were circling around her; moths igniting in her heated gaze.

“Oh.” She felt a quick stab of jealousy. “Old flame?” Black dress or not, she couldn’t help but think of fire; the woman was nearly incandescent, pale glowing skin and smoky eyes. She muttered something to that effect, and Ivar choked on a laugh.

“Come on, then,” he led the way up the stairs, not even pausing as they passed the bride and her multitude of grooms. “Jeanne,” he nodded. The woman smiled, a slow seduction making the men around her nearly fall to their knees. Aside from tucking her more closely beneath his arm, Ivar made no indication that he’d even noticed. The woman dropped a wink as they passed. They made their way inside. Ivar smiled at the gargoyle on display in the front hall, and remembering the tales he had told her, she giggled. Perhaps it’s copied from someone he met! Or, could it be a guest? Just in case, she patted its claw as she went by and whispered a greeting. She might have imagined the soft grinding she heard from behind, as of shifting sand.

“So this is the mystery man!” Kristen’s brown hair was back pulled away from her face, and her brown eyes looked even brighter than usual. “Definitely imported.” Her voice recalled the specter of Mae West even more than her dress. Ivar nodded his head by way of a bow.

“I assure you, I can be quite domestic.” His voice throbbed with sensual promise; she grinned, knowing he was merely playing. She looked at Kristen, eager to hear the reply.

“Oh, and he talks, too! I didn’t think they made ’em like that anymore.” Tossing her head in a vintage bad-girl gesture, she winked at a passing guest, then looked at she. 

“Introduce us, and then go away for a while, why don’t you?” Her lips smiled, but her voice was unwontedly serious, and she looked at her friend, wondering what was wrong. Finding no clue to go on, she looked at Ivar. She’d never seen him look so cold; the teasing in his voice might never have been. It’s worse than I imagined! Wringing her hands, she made the introductions in a shaking voice, then took a hesitant step away. Eyes locked on hers. Ivar gave her a gentle push. Alright. I’ll go. But someone’s going to tell me what this is all about! Slowly as she walked away, she could hear no voices behind her, and she was certain they’d stay silent until she was gone.

“Vlad?”

“Have we met?” His brown hair glinted in the multi-colored party lights, but Ivar’s expression was hardly festive – almost a death mask, except that his lips moved and his eyes blinked.

“I’ve heard of you. Looked for you, for a while. A few years back, a rash of purse-snatchings?”

“I have never,” his words were clipped, “had need to steal lip balms and hairsprays, or whatever it is women carry in those things.”

“I know.” Kristen waved a hand, trying to smother a grin.

“They figured it out after a few nights, that there was a snatcher and another man. You. Who maybe took a little advantage of their fear, but gave a lot in return. One of the women nicknamed you Vlad. As in Dracula. Does she know?”

“Y/N?”

“No, the tooth fairy! Of course, her. Does she know what you do?” Ivar’s gaze went to her, standing, worried, just within view, and his expression softened.

“I am not certain what it is you think I do. Would you care to take this conversation outside?”

“I’m sorry, was that a request for quiet or an invitation to a fistfight?” Kristen followed his gaze, and she nodded. Her brown hair bounced with barely suppressed laughter as she spoke, and the last of the tension eased from her shoulders. A guest grabbed her from behind, spinning her around in a hug, and then put her down again. Ivar remained still throughout, patiently, waiting. “Follow me,” she told him, and led him to an empty room. “What I think you do – I’m not sure, but I know you’re not normal. The stories those girls told! Well, I looked out of more than curiosity.” Ivar nodded, remembering Kristen as he’d seen her then, younger, stalking the streets with a baseball bat. Quite different from her recent playful searching.

He had not known of the thief at the time, wished now he might have caught the man himself. Thirst rose at the thought; he pushed it aside, tongue pushing his fangs back before they had quite emerged, an automatic gesture. “Did they find the… other?” Silk bunched as Ivar hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands in his pockets, like any other man wishing a conversation to be over.

“The snatcher? Yeah. Didn’t help he looked like you, brown hair, muscular, charming smile. But they got him, threw him in jail. Paper did a bit about you a while later, about how the college seems to have this very strange sort of haunt, a few women fainting, losing time, waking weak but smiling; a new one every few years. How long’ve you been around, anyway?”

“You sound like her. She, too, persists in asking my age. Tell me, would you answer, if I were to ask?”

“Depends. Would you smile real pretty when you did?” Helplessly, Ivar laughed. she stuck her head through the doorway; she couldn’t take it anymore.

“There you guys are! Come on, you’re missing the party!” One hand for each, she dragged them from the room. “Talk later. Dance now!”

“How well do you really know this guy?” Kristen emptied another bottle into the punch bowl as she spoke. She handed her yet another; Kristen’s punch was deservedly famous. Or infamous.

“Not well enough, but there’s no rush. Why?”

“Just… be careful, okay? You’re my best friend; I worry.” Calls for more punch rang through the air. “Coming! Keep your pants on. Or don’t, whatever.” Rolling her eyes, she followed her friend.

“Did you enjoy the party?” She watched the reflection in the mirror, tilted her head, reached up a hand to remove the earrings she wore.

“Let me,” Ivar whispered, circling that same ear with one night-cool finger. “Ah, the party. It was interesting. Your friend Kristen has a great deal of energy.”

“One way to put it! No fear, no speedometer, no brakes. That’s what she’d say.” she smiled fondly. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yes.” His blue eyes looked deep into the glass, seeing something she could not find; he forgot to pretend to breathe, lost in thought. She waited, curious and concerned, watching, idly admiring the line of his jaw, the sheen of his straight hair thrown into a bun. A slow indrawn breath signaled his return to the moment. “Kristen has suspicions about me. About what I am.”

“How? I haven’t…” she trailed off. Have I said anything I shouldn’t have? I don’t think so, but Kristen’s really smart. Should I have warned him?

“No, it’s nothing to do with you. She seems to have held her ideas for quite some time, on little evidence, at least as she conveyed to me. Is she one of those who romanticizes my kind?”

“Well, she likes vampire flicks, but she’s no Goth. What did she say?” Ivar repeated the conversation verbatim; a good memory might be either blessing or curse, but it was his, in either case. “As I said, little evidence, but still she persists in her conviction, and I cannot argue, as she is right.” Her eyes were wide and fixed and glassy.

“Ivar?” Her voice was little-girl high and soft. “Would you show me what you do?”

“I would rather not.” Her face fell; he sighed. “If you feel it necessary, I shall. When you are certain. Not until then.” Gentle as the brush of shadow over shade, he stroked her cheek, kissed her, and vanished into the night, leaving her alone. She lay wakeful long past dawn, falling finally into a restless, dream-haunted sleep where each ray of sunshine coming through the windows was first Ivar’s touch, then a brand of fire, alternately pleasure and pain. She woke, sweating and chilled and panting, to stare at the ceiling and wonder. How far can we go and still be safe? The absurdity of the situation hit her in the shower. Is vampirism a sexually transmitted disease?


	7. Chapter 7

“Cher,” the raven-haired vision purred. Ivar stretched for the nearest handhold, and effortlessly swung his muscular body up onto the roof, settling beside her.

“Jeanne.”

“Ah, merci. I was afraid you had forgotten my name, after so many years. What brings you out of your coffin, my old friend? I had thought you’d given over the company of your own kind and mortals in favor of their books.” A hand, ageless as his own, draped gracefully over his, as cool as the air. Ivar looked out over the night sky, stars faded behind man made lights, twinkling softly.

“I traded in the last pine box during one of the waterbed crazes. Not a wise decision, in retrospect.” Laughter like caroling bells came from beside him. “And I spend some time with mortal… friends.” He waited, patient, certain she’d come to the reason for her visit in time.

“Your petite amie, she of the sharp eyes?” A pause, largely for effect. “As you know, I saw you at the recent party, and I was wondering, how close have the two of you become?”

“What concern is that of yours?”

“You know the answer. We care for you.”

“We?”

“We. All of us. Have you told her what you are?”

“She knows.” No pretense now at humanity, Ivar turned. His eyes were mostly black with his passion, fangs fully extended. “She will not be harmed, nor will her friend.”

“Pfui.” The vampire woman waved away all concern, her own fangs barely visible behind her smile. “We don’t kill much these days, much easier to pay people to go away. Easier still to convince them they were simply drugged and imagining things.” The lilt of her voice made her statement half a question, and she tilted her head to the side, impossibly graceful. No human male could have seen that hint of smile and not leaned in to kiss it. But Ivar had not been human in quite some time.

“No haunting, no bribery, no interference at all. What may come, will come without your aid.” His gaze shifted, seeking the lights of her windows, and his voice was heavy with emotions as he went on. “I love her, Jeanne, as I had thought our kind could not love. She is not food, nor simple company. My… life, unlife, existence, is complete when I see her smile. Nothing shall harm her while I am near.”

Jeanne stroked his cheek, smiling sadly, her fangs dripping as though they cried the tears she could not. The scent of her venom spread through the air, saccharine-sweet and metallic. Moved by the depth of his old friend’s emotion, he made the effort to breathe deeply, raised his hand toward her lips in a phantom caress. Memories flooded through his mind. In a long life, there is time for friendship to become something more; they were family, though they’d not met until long years after they had died. His own fangs distended, venom glistening, and Jeanne breathed in the scent of him, eyebrow raised elegantly high.

“Ah, cher. Your kiss would be sweeter far than wine.” It was neither request nor invitation, just a statement of fact, but still Ivar looked away, troubled. She noticed, of course. “Your petite would not, perhaps, understand? Or is it that you feel unfaithful to her, simply to sit here with me?”

“No. Yes.” He frowned, reaching for a not-yet-matured thought. “She would be distressed were she to see us, feel left out, set aside; that is part of what I feel. And,” Ivar slanted a wry smile and a glance her way, “though your company is as welcome as ever, I find that I prefer hers.”

Jeanne stiffened. Not in outrage, or not entirely, but in something that looked remarkably like grief. “You said she was not simple company. What is she, then, to you? What do you do, alone together, shrouded by the night?” Each word was spaced evenly, a small breath to fuel the sounds. It was the voice of one new to the changed body, or one too concerned with the moment to attend to such things. It made the hairs on Ivar’s neck stand on end.

“I have not exchanged with her, if that is your question. I would not.” I hope. I pray. “I have kissed her, no more.” No matter how I long.

“Cher ami,” a deep breath and the words softened, sympathy plain to be heard, “you are a fool. You love her, a love so pure it drips from your tongue, and you’ve kissed her. She could be no more yours if you sank within her fully. How have you lasted all these years and not learned a thing about what you are? Or what women are, for all that? It’s been ages, but I still remember a true love’s kiss. Even without the venom, it’s as addictive as life itself.”

Ivar waved off that last comment as an ill-timed jest, though the truth was there in her eyes. The rest of it, though, he had to consider. Need the venom be transmitted through the exchange, or would a kiss work? Is it possible to turn another without the ritual? He’d never thought about it before. But then, it’s been a long while since last I kissed a mortal. Or desired to. Oh, lady, what have I done? Jeanne sat beside him, waiting. The moon set. He stirred at last, turned to her, eyes bleak as death itself.

“Tell me. What happens to a vampire’s mortal love?” It was her turn to look away, lest he see more truth than he could handle in her eyes.

“It does not often go well. Though there are a few tales of happy endings. Perhaps you and this mortal you have caught shall be among them.” Ivar nodded slowly, watching as a distant light was extinguished. I pray you are right, he thought. The woman who caught me deserves only joy.

Ivar dreamed of his past, years unfolding before his memory like the pages of an oft-read book. All the women he’d known, young and old and ageless, kind and cruel and everywhere in between. The years spent roaming with others of his kind, taking women only for food and passing pleasure. The years entirely alone, with no companionship but the books written by mortals. As in a storybook, his mind turned a page and stopped: A young woman’s girlish smile, the deep pools of her eyes. The first woman he’d courted as a vampire. He could still remember her hand fluttering at her throat as he’d whispered his goodbyes, abandoning her before his secret could be made known. He had missed her for more years than she had walked the earth. There had been others since, of course, those he’d told, those he had not, some who had yearned to become as he was, some who’d sought to have him killed. One who’d spent her fortune, and her life, setting hunters on his trail. Never had there been one like her, in all the days of his unlife.  
One whose mind was as sharp as his own, and as quick. One with fire in her eyes, challenge in her smile. One who wanted to know what he was, all of what he was. One who made fun of him, who made him laugh. Ivar hadn’t smiled as much, even when he’d been truly alive. She brought light with her wherever they went. Sleeping, he smiled, and his mind turned another page, remembering the first time he’d seen her, a dreary academic party, the first night he’d come close to drinking from her. My love. My light. She’d stood beneath the lamplight, softly outlined, haloed, her own energy brighter by far; the light of her smile, the brightness of her eyes like sunlight to him, warm, seductive and dangerous. He’d not been alone in his attraction, but she’d seemed unaware of the men clustered around, she didn’t see them as anything more than colleagues or fellow guests – alone, even in the center of their admiration. As lonely, it seemed, as he. How could he not have been drawn to her?

He’d thought even then of calling her to him, bidding her to bare her throat, taking what he desired, a longing stronger than he’d ever felt in all his years. His fangs throbbed merely at the thought of her, sweet as a first kiss. A kiss as addictive as any modern drug, if he’d not drained her to death, if he’d controlled himself. He’d never wanted a woman so much or tasted so sweet a yearning. She would have moaned, begged for more. She still would. May. The more he’d learned of her, the greater his fascination had grown. She had few close friends, but would do anything for them; had a mind as keen and incisive as a surgeon’s blade; delighted in whimsy and laughed at butterflies. She loved knowledge new and old, and books and learning. She had run, when faced with the truth. But she had returned. Believed, and accepted, and come to him. More, sought to know him, as no one else, ever, in life or in death.

Sleeping, he reached out and frowned when he did not feel her. But of course, a living woman had no business sleeping in a windowless stone room. Not quite awake, he sat up. Lonely. Night comes in time, he thought, and settled. His dreams were all of sunlight, warmth, his love, and sweetness beyond bearing.

She paused, her hand midway through a habitual gesture, tracing the curve of her ear. He did that last night. Blushing a bit, though there was no one to see, she shook her head, moved to her closet to choose an outfit for the day. Silk. Like him. She blushed again. She smiled, looking out at the quad, filled with students with too much energy to stand still, students too lethargic to stand at all, students like wildflowers, sprung up overnight. When last she’d looked, under starlight, there’d been no one at all. Where do you go, when the sun goes down? Are you Ivar’s opposite, destroyed by the night? Fanciful thoughts; students congregated with others of their kind, that was all. Doubtless the bars and nightclubs were filled with them when night fell. Leaving campus to me and mine.

She paused mid-step, head cocked to better hear her thoughts. Mine. Is he, then? Her smile brightened, and a male student in her path gulped, awed. She didn’t notice, lost in her own musings, would have walked into him had he not stepped reluctantly aside. Mine. My very own nighttime lover. My vampire. She liked the way it sounded in her mind. Mine. The library was its usual welcoming self, soft dusty air, quiet and patient wisdom. She sighed as she entered, like coming home. Her eyes slid toward the stacks, where Ivar sometimes stood, far from any window, safe from sunlight, hidden with the rest of time. He wasn’t there, she knew; she would have felt him. Still, she smiled at the place where he would have been. I’m obsessed, she giggled. If it was bad before, it’s clinical now! I’m mooning over a patch of floor. Hey, doc? What’s your diagnosis? Her mind had an answer, but she wasn’t yet ready to hear.

Shaking her head, she turned to her books. ‘The care and feeding of the domesticated vampire.’ Now there’s a book I’d like to read! Her smile turned down at the corners. Feeding. Why doesn’t he want to tell me? Can it be worse than the TV versions? If Buffy can do it… But then again, Buffy’s vampire was nearly a vegetarian. What if Ivar’s not? She grimaced, telling herself not to borrow trouble. Her mind drifted to the night to come, his arms around her and his kisses. Her shoulders eased and her lips tingled with anticipation. He’s certainly no angel!

Ivar leaned over the roof ledge, nostrils distended as he drank in the scents: Night-blooming flowers, the sharp burning death of moths and the passion rising between the two young lovers below him. Soft words and the brush of skin on fabric reached his ears, delightful torment, as he imagined himself in a like clinch. With her, of course. Always her. A breeze picked up, dashing down the street, hurrying somewhere. Do you pass by my love, my light? He smiled at his fancy. Talking to winds, now. I’ve finally, as she would put it, gone batty. He breathed out her name in a soft sigh. She would be there soon. And I must tell her. All of it. The danger. The chance. Part of him rejoiced. If it is too late for caution, then perhaps… But when night fell, and she came to him, he swallowed his words again. Soon, he told himself, but not yet. Please, not yet.

She’d spent the day in the library, but this time, she had been studying Ivar’s kind. Old pseudo-scholarly tomes, collected legends, psychological treatises of vampire myths. She’d collected what ‘facts’ she could find, and was going down her lists.

“I still know next to nothing about you, do you realize that? I mean, what are your vices? Do you smoke?” He laughed, the sound deep in his chest, beckoning, so that she could barely keep from laying her cheek against him.

“Only if you put me in the sun.”

“Hey, I’m serious!” She smiled, though. “What about grave dirt? Do you need to sleep on your native soil?”

“Ach, no. Writers have entirely too much time on their hands!” He made a face, daintily brushing the tips of his fingers, as though the mere thought made him feel soiled. The lamplight reflected softly off his silk shirt.

“Do you turn into anything?”

“A bat, you mean?”

“Or fog, or a wolf.”

“That last,” she started, eyes wide as saucers, “no, not truly. Werewolves notwithstanding.” She let that pass; she wasn’t interested in literary references, but in facts.

“Mirrors?”

“I can see my reflection, as can you; it does not mesmerize.” His eyes darted away; she thought, were he capable, he might have blushed. She made an inquiring noise, and he chuckled. “I have been accused of spending more time before a mirror than any two teenaged girls.”

“Presumably by someone who would know?”

“I wouldn’t question her expertise,” he shrugged. She tried to stifle a stab of jealousy. She was not altogether successful. Be reasonable; he’s been around a long time. You know he wasn’t a hermit all those years. But still… She sighed.

“Tell me about her?” I might as well know.

“An old friend,” he sounded perfectly casual. “From long ago.” He stood, strode to her mirror, straightened his cuffs. Smiled at his reflection. “So, is it worth the effort?” He struck a pose.

“You look wonderful no matter what you wear.” Her voice was thick with emotions, good and bad, and her eyes brimmed over with helpless tears.

“Shh.” He gathered her close, uncaring that her tears would stain his silk. “Ah, lady, I am sorry for your pain.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sniffed, “it’s mine. I’m silly. And jealous!”

“And beautiful, and lovely, and brilliant, and cherished. And I am a fool, though I never meant to hurt you.” He held her face in his hands, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Here,” he whispered, “let me take your pain away.” He kissed her softly, gently, completely, until she forgot her tears. And then less gently, until she forgot there had ever been anything but the two of them, together. His kisses were honey and fire, burning her doubts and fears away.

“Stakes? Crosses? Fire? Holy water? Silver bullets, or is that only werewolves?” Her eyes were bright, dancing, enjoying the company, the conversation. The knowledge gained.

“I can be killed – or whatever word you would choose. Sunlight, fire, acid, anything that burns. Or that severs my spine. Churches don’t bother me, nor any religious artifacts; my conscience is clear. For the most part.”

“And the rest?” He spoke low and soft and slow, his voice deliberate.

“You don’t walk the earth for long without accruing the occasional regret.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Of late, I’ve felt guilty for something, yes. Not what I’ve done, but what I wish.”

“What do you wish?”

“That I could ask you to stay with me forever.”

“That you could? Does that mean that you can’t? That you don’t know how to make someone… what you are?” she wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea; she was still often uncomfortable with the thought of what he was, and there was the feeding issue not yet resolved. But she cared for him, and part of her thrilled to know that he had considered the long term.

“I have never turned another.” His voice a gentle velvet rasp, dark as night, and warm, and thick with feeling. “My unlife is not something to wish on an enemy, let alone on one I love.” It was the first time either had used the word, and it hung in the air between them, a presence, impossible to ignore. She licked her lips, her breath suddenly hot and dry and did her best to meet his level gaze.

“Oh.” Time passed. Only the sound of her breath stirred the silence; he had ceased, once again, to bother with the pretense of life, a reminder that he was not a mortal man. Tension faded into discomfort, and she cleared her throat. “What about garlic?” He chuckled, and the sound eased her pounding heart.

“Horrendous stuff. But it only bothers me when I breathe.” I’ll tell her tomorrow. Not tonight; she’s had enough without that. Ivar stood on her doorstep, one last kiss to tide them through the day.

“You’d better go,” she whispered, eyes closed half in pleasure, half in regret.

“Yes.” Still he stood there, one hand on her waist, counting her too-fast breaths with his fingertips. “Lady…” His eyes were dark. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, no more! She knew, without knowing quite how, that she didn’t want to hear what he would say. The set of his shoulders, perhaps, the weight of his stare. Whatever it was, it brought a chill to her core.

“Don’t. Not now. Meet me tonight – no, sorry, you said you had plans tonight. Tomorrow night, then, on the library roof.” She breathed one last kiss past his lips, turned and raced inside, shutting the door quickly behind her, but gently, lest she startle him with the noise. His ears, she knew, were far more sensitive than her own. Still, he ran toward the siren; he was afraid for me. I think I knew then that he loved me. And tonight, when he said the words… she closed her eyes, holding the memory tight. But what does that mean, really? For him, for me? She stared out the window, but did not see the sun creeping high into the sky. Her thoughts were all for the sunset, the one to come, the next. What do I want? And what was he going to say, before he left?

“Eureka!” The whisper had all the joy of a full-throated shout; she had found a fact she’d been seeking. It always affected her the same way, as though her blood had begun to bubble. Effervesce, like champagne, or laughter. She tapped her fingertips together, wild applause in library tones. Closing her book with a gentle reverent stroke across the cover, she made her way quickly to the stairwell, to a hidden room Ivar had shown her once. He was probably sleeping, but she had to share her triumph with someone. With him. she heard Ivar’s voice just as she neared the concealed door.

“Yes, tonight. I must feed.” Her blood went cold; she stood, a lump in her throat. That’s why he didn’t want to be with me tonight. Because he’s… hungry. All her joy and triumph drained away.

She stared into her dog’s eyes, looking for answers. Well, why not? I’ve looked everywhere else. Frenrik blinked, patient as ever, and she sighed. “It’s not about the feeding – okay, partly, it’s about the feeding. He won’t tell me about it, won’t talk to me. He said once that he’d show me ‘when I was certain,’ but that’s the same thing he did about telling me what he is – it’s another way of saying no, telling me I don’t want to know. Is it so horrible? Does he think I won’t be able to handle it? “Is he out there killing someone right now? I couldn’t take that. This isn’t a movie, it’s my life! Okay, all right, the feeding – it’s a big deal.”

She leaned forward to stroke Frenrik, taking what comfort she could in the feel of the warm, soft fur. The rise and fall of her dog’s chest, a sign of life. “But it’s not just the feeding thing,” she insisted. “I want the whole megillah. A man to share my life with, nights and days. I want the fairytale ending, riding together off into the sunset. I can’t do that with a vampire; a pile of ash is no lifelong lover. I want the happily ever after, even if I can’t see it yet.” She jammed her elbows into the cushions, put her chin on fisted hands. He can’t see it either; he told me so. He quests for another’s happiness, not his own. Is happy-ever-after even possible if you can’t imagine it? Maybe… maybe he was right, at the beginning. When he turned and walked away. Maybe I shouldn’t have chased him down. Maybe I should send him away. Frenrik wavered in her gaze; her tears blurred her vision.  
Ivar whistled beneath his breath as he followed his quarry; he’d been looking forward to this. The man who had been so foolish as to attack her was about to learn the error of his ways. A dark alley, how convenient. Ivar smiled. Why, what’s this? Can you possibly be intending to attack someone else? Sorry to spoil your plans, sir. He stepped up behind the mugger, cleared his throat and bared his fangs. The mugger gasped and tripped over his own feet. I believe my lady might have managed even without the siren. Still, you meant to harm her. That is enough. Ivar had very strict rules about his prey. Leaning down, he grabbed the mugger by the neck of his jacket; grimacing at the feel of the filthy, oily denim, he pulled the mugger up, propped him against the wall.

“You have the right to scream, though I don’t recommend it. Anything you do will – make that, has – come back to haunt you.” The mugger gasped and struggled; Ivar pretended to be shocked. “Oh, yes, I suppose you would like to breathe.” His grip shifted; he smiled, fangs glinting. The mugger fainted. “They never like my Joe Friday impression. Ah, well.”  
Shrugging, he tore the mugger’s jacket to bare his arm. Peasants bathed more often than this drudge. Sneering faintly, he held the grimy elbow, found a plump, scarred vein, and plunged his fangs into the soft flesh. Venom rushed forth, anger and thirst mixing in a devil’s brew, speeding through the victim’s body. Ivar waited a moment, listening to the heartbeat race; when the mugger moaned in the grip of some nightmare, the vampire began to feed. Ivar tilted his head to one side then the other, stretching his neck, smiling up at the night sky.

“Many thanks,” he bowed to the slumped form below him, only partly mocking. A firm step sounded at the head of the alley. “Ah, your transportation has arrived.” Reaching up for the fire stair’s lowest rung, he easily pulled himself up and out of sight. By the time the policeman had reached the mugger’s crumpled, shivering body, Ivar was comfortably ensconced in shadows, settled in to watch the show. It took three officers just to subdue the mugger long enough to cuff him once they managed to shake him awake. Though they did read him his rights, no one was certain he had even heard, let alone understood. He jumped at things which were not there, flinched away from sudden sounds, whimpered like a small child caught in nightmare.

“A bad trip,” the first cop diagnosed, and Ivar smiled, bright white teeth shining in the available light. A very bad trip, indeed. For once, he didn’t bother to push back his fangs. May this be a lesson to all who harm my love. And his blood wasn’t bad. If only his skin had been a little cleaner. Never losing his smile, Ivar rose and leapt to the roof of the building. There were hours yet before dawn; he decided to go check on her, peer into her window, watch her sleep. He tried not to imagine sinking his fangs into her, an act worlds removed from the theft he’d just committed, and the revenge. He tried not to dream of her taste. ‘Love is strong as death..’ Ah, stronger still by far. As for the cruelty of the grave, I shall exceed it only when there is need. Not for jealousy, not from my own selfish needs, but only to spare her pain. This I vow.

She tossed restlessly, twisting the sheets until they trapped her. Frenrik watched from across the room, ears raised at her shouts, settling again when she did. Lost in her nightmares, she moaned again and again, bit her pillow, gnashed her teeth. In her dreams, Ivar stood beneath a spotlight, dressed in the garish tophat and tails of a circus ringmaster.

“And in this corner, at two thousand years of age, we have Lazarus! Come on out, old man, give the crowd a bow!” A dessicated form lurched forward, skin-splitting grin aimed at her. She shrank back, goosebumps rising. She was dressed as a tightrope walker, leotard, tights, and feathers, nothing else. “And in this corner, the challenger, Count Dracula!”  
The nightmare form strutted forward like a bantam cock, flourishing his satin cape before tossing it to the swooning crowd. “Dracula’s a newcomer, only a thousand years old, but he’s coming on strong! Place your bets; the fight begins in two minutes.” She tried to walk toward Ivar, to ask him about this fight, and suddenly found herself high above, balancing on a tightrope, a leather book in each hand. Afraid of falling, she froze, not even breathing. A voice called out from below. “All bets are now closed; the fight begins in one minute. The winner receives, as well as many other valuable services, the right to turn this lovely mortal into one of us. Less ten percent of her blood for the house, of course.”  
She half-woke, moaning, horrified at the mercenary allocation of her blood. Ivar doesn’t think that way; he loves me. But in her dream, the fight had become a feast, and she was the main course for monsters. He wouldn’t ask that of me. He wouldn’t. He loves me, wants me to be happy. But his voice came again in answer, colder than she had ever heard. 

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like just a drop more?”

In the next dream, Ivar exchanged his ringmaster’s costume for an elegant old-fashioned suit, becoming the same dream vision she had seen before, tearing her neck open, feeding from her, but this time there was more, as he bit his own wrist, held it to her mouth, feeding her from himself, turning her. He said he wouldn’t do that! But, what then? Would he just watch me grow old and die? What kind of love is that? What kind of life could I have with him? Sweating, pale with fear, she woke.

Hair still mussed, clothing haphazard, she paced. Her ears strained after each sound, though her breathing was harsh and loud enough to mask a louder step than his. Ivar stopped at the top of the stairwell, his face falling. Her fear was clear, and her sorrow, and her determination. He read them in the set of her shoulders, smelled them on the air, heard them in the beating of her heart. She has decided. Oh, my love. I shall miss you all my nights, however many there may be. His fangs inched out, urge greater than thirst; he pushed them back firmly, resolved to ask nothing of her. She has made her choice. If she can walk away, she ought to. She’ll be safer that way.

“My light,” he whispered, too quietly for her to hear, but she turned anyway, somehow knowing he was there. Just as she had known when he had watched her, those long months ago. She slowly pulled open the door.

“Ivar,” her voice was choked with all the things she had decided to say, and with sobs she would not set free. He nodded, offering a pallid shadow of a smile, and stepped nearer. This much at least I can do for her.

“I know. You need a life in the sun, and someone to share it, all the things I cannot offer. It’s alright, my lady. Truly, it is. I care for you, you know that; I’d never ask you to forsake your dreams for me. I wish you all the best in life; love, success and happiness, and I shall treasure forever the warmth you have shared with me.” He smiled sadly, reached out to once more brush her hair back behind her ear. “If ever you need me, call – and I don’t say such things lightly. You carry my love with you always, in sunlight or shadow. My light. My love.” One kiss on her brow, and he vanished, moving faster than her eyes could follow, leaving her alone beneath the stars. Her tears twinkled as brightly on her cheeks, but she was alone; there was no one to see.


	8. Chapter 8

Kristen shook her head briskly, brown hair bouncing, incongruously merry. “You might as well tell me the trouble from beginning to end. Talk to me girl! I can’t help if I don’t know the problem.” She growled.

“You couldn’t help if you knew, either. Just distract me, okay? It’s over, and I need to move on.”

“Did he ever tell you about the talk we had?”

“Yeah. Verbatim. I was impressed, by the way. I don’t think I’d have had the courage to ask one of your men if he was a criminal!” Her laugh was a shadow of its former self, and her smile was more bitter than she would have cared to acknowledge. But it was still a step in the right direction; for the past week, there’d been no smiles at all. Kristen ached for her friend, but part of her felt for Ivar, too. The depth of his affection had been obvious when she’d seen him look at her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he must be feeling now.

“Look, why don’t you get cleaned up, and I’ll take you out for dinner? We can go to Dugger’s,” she coaxed, knowing how much she adored the place.

“Well, at least I know we won’t run into him there.” she sighed, gently pushing Frenrik from her knee, and stood. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you’ll pay me back. In great, graphic detail.” Mae West smile firmly in place, Kristen settled back with Frenrik, waiting for her friend.

“I don’t know how much I can tell you. How much is mine to tell, I mean. He has secrets that aren’t for me to betray,” she shrugged helplessly. “His life isn’t what I’m used to, and I decided I wasn’t willing to give up my own for him. The whole sordid story in a nutshell.”

“You know the problem with nutshells? There’s never anything in them but nuts. I already know he’s not normal. How un-normal is he? Are we talking Twilight Zone, or fairy tale, or movie-of-the-week?”

“How about summer blockbuster—” The voice that cut in was too longed for, too familiar to mistake; her eyes were drawn up despite herself. 

“Hello.” There, in all his dark-clad glory, stood Ivar, equally surprised, and with a woman on his arm. Kristen earned her friend’s unending gratitude, rising to the occasion.

“Sorry, darlin’, you’re not quite right for the marquis. That pallor, don’t you know? Definitely not the hero type. Though you’d make a lovely villain, looming like that.” Courteous as ever, Ivar bowed and stepped away.

“Ladies,” he smiled, and moved on. The woman with him was of a certain type, larger-than-life and doing her utmost to live up to her scale, fire engine-red hair and nails to match, dress straining to contain her and likely to fail with any deep breath.

“Do you think she’ll bite his head off during or after?” Kristen murmured to her friend, but the joke was wasted, she was staring after Ivar, dismayed. Her dinner went home with her in a box; she hadn’t touched it. Ivar hadn’t eaten either, of course, though his date had put away more than enough for two. She had counted every bite. You feed her, and then feed from her, is that it? And why do I care? But she did, and she knew that she did, and that hurt almost as much as his choice of dinner date. A question she’d once asked rang in her mind, and she nearly walked over to him to ask again. But that would have been rude, she didn’t want to cause a scene, and so she simply suffered until it was time to go. For once, Kristen passed on dessert, for the sake of her friend. Ivar’s eyes followed her as she rose to leave, and she nearly stumbled beneath the force of that hard blue stare.

“That’s the one who broke your heart, is it?” Vera spoke with her mouth full, still managing to sound both amused and concerned. She stared across the still-laden table at her oldest, oddest friend, and saw the pain in his eyes, the regret in the line of his spine.

“What is it they say these days? Ah, yes. ‘That’s the one that got away.’ As though women were fish. In the modern vernacular, she is the one I set free.” Ivar’s voice had an edge sharp enough to cut, only partly from thirst. His hands clutched beneath the table, and Vera heard creaking, as of stressed wood, or bone.

“Don’t break the table, Drac,” she murmured. As she’d expected, his eyes flashed with sudden ire.

“Must you persist in calling me that?” he hissed. She giggled, pleased to have elicited a reaction. She’d had to drag him out to dinner; he’d done nothing the past week but sleep and stare out of windows. His brief spurt of anger faded, and his shoulders slumped. Kind eyes stared out from beneath her technicolor mop of hair, and she patted his cheek.

“You’ll feel better after you… eat something. My place?” She rose, and Ivar, his manners ingrained, tended to the small details of departure. She placed her hand on his arm, smiling in anticipation Ivar’s eyes grew less shadowed the nearer they got to their destination. It had been too long since he had fed, and he was hungry.

“Damn it all to hell, I don’t need this! I didn’t ask to fall in love with a vampire!” Kristen and she both froze, the words echoing around the room. She wished for a time machine, to go back thirty seconds and unsay what she had said. Better yet, back before the mugging, before I kissed him that first time. Before I met him. Hell, before my parents met! That’d be good. I’d like that, right now. To never have been born, never met him, never felt this bad.

“I’m sorry, it sounded like – did you really say ‘vampire’?” Kristen wore an expression she had never before seen, couldn’t have described if her life had depended on it. It reminded her somehow of descriptions she had read of saints, other than her friend’s brown eyes were bulging. I’ll bet Ivar would have a word for it, one of those old pre-Shakespearian things he comes up with. She shook her head. Kristen frowned, and she realized that her friend thought she was trying to deny her words.

“I shouldn’t have, but yeah, I did. The head-shaking is for me, for the idiot I am!” She walked across to take Kristen’s hands in hers. “You have to swear to me that you’ll never say a word about it to anyone. Not to him, not to anyone. Swear?”

“You’re my best friend,” Kristen said simply. “Whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, relieved. “It’ll be good to be able to talk about it.”

They settled in with drinks and a plate of store bought cookies. Setting Frenrik within petting range of them both, they began to dissect the mystery of Ivar, one detail at a time.   
“Wait a minute!” Kristen yelped at one point. “That’s what the fight was about? Good God, even undead men haven’t got a clue.”

“There’s no hope at all,” she replied, owlishly solemn. “Testosterone goes beyond the grave.” They both dissolved into laughter. When the whole story had been discussed from start to finish, Kristen decided to play devil’s, or as she said, vampire’s advocate.

“So where is it written that you can’t have it all, a normal life with a nighttime lover? Hell, get married if you want; I’ll be the maid of honor, and I promise not to use white roses in the bouquet. Where’s the trouble?”

“The trouble,” she sighed none-too-patiently, “is that it wouldn’t be a normal life. What about kids? Family? Aging? Certainly it’s not a concern for him, but it is for me! I never wanted to be a Mrs. Robinson, but he won’t look, won’t get, any older in thirty years than he is now. I’ll be old and wrinkled and he’ll still look like he does today. How am I supposed to handle knowing that he’ll go on forever, and I won’t? How is he supposed to deal with the specter of my imminent death, day after day? It’s just too much.”

“Whatever happened to love conquers all? Love will find a way. Love will keep us together.” she growled in reply, and Frenrik, a sensible creature, moved out of the path of whatever was about to be thrown. Kristen just smiled and kept going. “If you love something, set it free – which he did – if it comes back to you – which you should – it’s yours forever.” She repeated that last line, drawing out the words. “Forever. It’s something to think about.”

“He told me his unlife was a curse; that he’d never do that to anyone.”

“So change his mind! You’ve probably got forty years or so, even if you don’t start taking care of yourself.”

“Says the woman who just ate most of my cookies!” she managed a waning smile, but quickly sobered. “Kristen, you don’t understand. I went to meet him, meaning to tell him it wasn’t going to work, but he beat me to it, and the reasons he gave me were the same ones I had. Some of them, at least. We both knew… know, that it’s just not possible. Clichés notwithstanding. Whatever it was, it’s over and done with now.”

“Which is why seeing him with someone else was so easy for you tonight.” One brow lifted in a mannerism copied from Mr. Spock.

“Humans are illogical,” she answered. But her voice held no laughter, only sorrow. I do hope you’re happy, wherever you are. Whatever you’re doing. Whoever. She winced at the thought, swallowed hard, stared at the wall as if she could see through it. I hope she gives you what you need. Frenrik decided the danger of airborne missiles had passed, and curled up within stroking distance again. Kristen hummed.

“So, is there something else you’d like to tell me?” she looked up, at a loss. “Why were you two giggling over my gargoyle? And are you the ones who stole it?” she sputtered.

“You mean it’s gone?” She laughed until she cried, a welcome release.


	9. Chapter 9

Vera’s husband, another of Ivar’s select pool of donors, kindly left them alone, knowing how Ivar felt about being observed, pausing only to leer fondly at his wife, kiss her, and to pat his old, unaging friend’s hand. Vera sank back onto the couch, consciously posing, a Boticelli Madonna for all the post-modern tints. One hand trailed, inviting, a single finger slowly tracing arcane patterns in the air. “Ivar?” His blue eyes dark with hunger, Ivar looked up.

“Ah, my friend, forgive me. My mind is elsewhere.”

“Yes,” she smiled gently, “I know. No matter. Come, take what you need. We’ll both be the better for it, and then perhaps you’ll be able to do something about your love.” She pulled her hair back from her neck. “Feeling traditional?”

“I should never have let you give me that foolish cape.” Ivar managed a small grin, and moved to the willing woman waiting for him. She knew he’d not bite her neck; he never did, preferring to take his nourishment with no more intimacy than absolutely required. He knelt before her, a supplicant, or a child by his mother’s side. Fangs distended, throbbed; he could hear her heart. He took her plump wrist in both hands, and gratefully bit down as carefully as he knew how. Skin parted easily; she didn’t even flinch. Venom flowed; he waited until she sank back, smiling, then began to drink. Ivar, like most of his kind who lived long enough, had learned to tailor the compounds his body made, and gave to his willing partners what they desired in trade for sating his need. I am a vampire, but I am not a monster. “I am not!” He tried to say it aloud, but his fangs made him lisp. Ah, she, my love. My light. What would you have said, if you had seen me like this? The night had no answer to give him, and Vera was lost in her dreams.

“So how do I go about finding a reclusive vampire on campus? And what in the names of all the late-night movie stars am I going to say when I do? I promised her I wouldn’t say anything about our conversation. Maybe I can just question him about his date, ask him if he cares for her. Bring up the talk we had at the party. Yeah, that should work.” Kristen paced back and forth in front of the library, muttering to herself. The sun had not quite set, but it was on its way down. “Now if only I could find him.” A voice came from a nearby tree, smooth and cultured and barely amused.

“You called?”

“Who’s… Ivar?”

“Who else?” Lowering himself from the crown of the tree with the same air of confident, quiet power as he did everything else, Ivar offered Kristen a nod by way of greeting, then straightened his shirt cuffs. “You always dress fancy to climb trees?” What kind of stupid remark was that?

“I like my clothes.” Kristen could hear no humor in the vampire’s voice now; he sounded almost impatient, though still polite.

“Yeah, well. Do you like her, or do you like hurting her?” Put ’em up, buster!

“I love her. Which you already know. I would cut out my unbeating heart to spare her pain.”

“Un-unbeating?” Dear God, he said it! She wasn’t kidding. He said it, out loud, to me! He’s a vampire! “Are you going to kill me, now?”

“Have you no sense? If I would not cause the one I love pain, how then could I kill her dearest friend? No, you’re in no danger from me, unless, of course, you hurt her. And I do not believe that is something you would ever do.” Solemn blue eyes met equally somber brown ones, and an unspoken oath passed, eternally binding.

“So why tell me? I mean, you knew I suspected…” Kristen tilted her head, not sure what to expect; for him to shrug, to laugh, to lunge up into the sky. To answer. To turn into a bat, or a wolf, or a wisp of fog.

“She’ll need someone who understands. I had hoped it might be me, but as it is not, at least a friend can help her to move on. And you care for her, as much as I. It would not be fair to ask her to keep such a secret from you.”

“Thank you. For that, at least. Though after the woman in red at the restaurant…” Kristen shook her head, tsking.

“Vera is an old and dear friend of mine, and she insisted. Much as I expect you dragged her there.” Kristen took a deep breath, braced herself, and asked the question she had not.

“So, was she the dinner or the date?”

“Both. Actually.” The vampire smiled, teeth white and shining in the night. Kristen gulped.

“Right. Um. About that, the feeding thing? Why did you never tell her what it’s like? You have to know that’s part of the reason she gave up.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you know? So, why didn’t you?”

“I love her too much. Your pardon, Kristen, but I really must go.” He stepped back and vanished. Kristen peered and prowled around, but could not find him. Finally, she threw up her hands and made her way home, muttering all the while about men, dead or otherwise. She was determined not to give up; her friend deserved answers, at the very least, and she had questions of her own. And there had been the look in his eyes as he fled, pain too great to be spoken aloud.

Kristen wandered the campus late at night, whistling themes from vampire movies, brandishing a baseball bat for protection. Not from Ivar, but would be muggers the likes of which she had had the unfortunate occasion to meet. Three nights passed, four, and though the security patrols stopped her more than once, she continued, determined to speak to Ivar. For the sake of her friend, and for him; she couldn’t forget the love she’d seen in his eyes, or the pain, before he’d run from her. “Dammit, Ivar, I know you didn’t just take off. You’ve been here for I don’t know how many years. You didn’t just vanish into thin air.” She spoke aloud, an old habit. This time, an answer came.

“I have not. Were you looking for me?”

“No, I’m hunting for the tooth fairy! Of course I was looking for you.” Kristen squinted, seeing nothing but shadow. “Where are you, anyway?” He stepped forward, and she gasped at his nearness.

“My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”

“N-no, it’s fine.” She followed his gaze to the bat she held, upraised, though she did not remember having done so. “Reflex?” She shrugged, lowered her hands. “We need to talk.”

“Would you care for coffee?” Old-world courtesy a habit too long-standing to break, he offered her his arm. She grinned, and gave him the bat.

“Sweets for the sweet?”

“Was that meant to be funny?” He essayed a smile. “How is she?”

“About as good as you.” Kristen looked him up and down. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair uncombed, but the air of dishevelment went far beyond the clothes. “You look like you haven’t slept in years.”

“Oh, I sleep. And dream. Of her.” They arrived at the coffee shop. “What would you like?”

“Answers.” Her brown eyes, determined and unblinking. It was not the mortal who blinked first. Ivar nodded, placed an order, escorted Kristen to a table far from any other customers. When he met her gaze again, she was ready. “Tell me about yourself, about what you are. Why are you so determined not to change anyone else?” Ivar gave her a searching look, blue eyes measuring.

“It’s not like in the movies, or on television.” Kristen flushed.

“I’m not asking for me! Yeah, I think the fantasy’s cool, but this is real. My best friend is moping because the guy she’d been seeing sent her away, and I need to know why. You told me what happened so I could help her, but I need more than that. I need to know why you did what you did.”

“If you had AIDS, would you ask your lover to infect himself?”

“Of course not! But that’s different. AIDS can kill you; seems to me we’re talking about extending life, not shortening it.”

“I am not alive.” Ivar stilled himself fully, as he rarely did in public, and the air seemed to freeze around him, unnaturally clear, almost solid. Noises faded away from Kristen’s hearing as she took in the sight. He waited a beat, two, until he was certain she understood, then reached for his mug, a small smile hovering around his lips.

“Close enough for government work, or it looks that way from here.” Kristen tossed her hair back, pretending not to be disturbed. He shook his head, solemn and serious, and she frowned. “Alright, then, tell me about the differences.”

“It took me, I believe, nearly twenty years to learn the workings of my fangs. Yes, I have them, and no, you may not see them.” Kristen blushed a bit, rolled her eyes, motioned for him to continue. “Until I learned, I was helpless as a child. Would you go back to your earliest days?” It was a serious question she could tell, so she gave it serious thought.

“Not willingly, no, but I’m not her. For love, maybe.”

“She has never said she loves me.” He stilled again, and Kristen bit her lip, looked away. Their drinks cooled.

“What else? Beyond the learning curve, I mean.” Kristen wrapped her hands around her refilled mug, chilled by the pain she had seen. Maybe eternal life isn’t such a good deal; no one should have to hurt that much.

“Well, my dining habits are not precisely normal,” he smirked. “I live off the blood of others. It’s not a pleasant existence.”

“So, did you drain the floozy, or is she rechargeable?” Ivar tilted his head, brown hair shining. “The woman at the restaurant—” she let the question hang.

“Oh, Vera. She’s an old friend. A patron, I suppose. And, if I understand your question, it was not the first time she has… provided me what I need.”

“Willingly. So you don’t go creeping in through windows, drinking from sleeping people like an overgrown mosquito.” A laugh burst from Ivar’s mouth.

“No, not quite.” He sobered again. “Though I do attack people. I know of none who live completely on donors; I’m not sure it’s possible.”

“Ooh, medical details. Such fun! But another day, I think. Or night, whatever. Do you have to kill people?”

“No. Though I did in the beginning, before I learned. And I shall carry their souls with me always, the lives I cut short. It’s not like when I was alive and a warrior.” His eyes were so filled with agony that Kristen could not look away, however much she wanted to. And she did. I take it back. Do you hear me, God? I take it back. I don’t want to be like him. No one should be like that. Poor, poor man. Her eyes brimmed over with tears, and Ivar frowned.

“What is the matter?” he whispered.

“I don’t know who I feel sorrier for, you or her.”

“Her, surely. Mortal wounds cut deep.” He looked out into the night, face aimed unerringly in the direction of her home, a magnet to his unbeating heart. “I love her too much to hurt her, especially in a way I can prevent. I would not see her in pain of any kind. Even of her own misguided choosing.”

“And so you sent her away, to keep her from being hurt even more.” Kristen nodded, understanding at last. “And that’s why I’m crying. I was hoping for a happy ending, you see. I’m a sucker for those.”

“I’d settle for a sunrise, myself. I’d give anything to see the sun rise, my love by my side. At least this way, I can imagine she’s smiling in the dawn.”

“Damn, boy! Ever heard of sunblock?”

“They don’t make SPF one million.”

“Yet.” Kristen managed a wavering smile. “You’ve got time.”

“Perhaps.” His eyes grew even sadder, knowing that she did not.

Ivar stared up at the cloud-darkened afternoon sky, wondering at his own daring. One part in the cover, he thought, and my unlife might be ended. But the clouds hung low, as heavy as unforgiven sins, and he walked, head unbowed, beneath them, eyes squinting a little against the light, dim to mortal eyes, almost too bright for his. Where might she be at this hour? Her habits had changed since he had sent her away, avoiding the places they had been most often together. She had not been to the library in almost a month; he wondered where she was doing her research, certain she would not have walked away from that for anything.

He missed the sight of her more than words could have said. His heart was a stone, cracked and weeping. I was right, he told himself, but it was little consolation. If ever I had fed from her, tasted her, I’d never have been able to set her free to love another. And once she had felt…. his mind shied away, even after all the years gone by, from the truth of what he was. What his body did. Thank the gods of my youth Jeanne was wrong, that she was not yet addicted to me. He could not be bothered to draw breath, so his sigh was merely a feint. A mosquito, Kristen called me. Oh, to be so harmless as that! Like a mosquito, Ivar’s body did produce a blood thinner, but there the similarities ended. Ivar made no attempt to drink unnoticed, and his bite produced no simple histamine itching. No, nothing so innocuous as that. Eyes darker than the lowering sky with a pain that never faded, he moved on. His fangs protruded, pure reflex, as he had been thinking about feeding. Irritably, he used his tongue to push them back. Glutton! he castigated himself. The word had little force, too often used. His steps led him toward Vera’s home, and he caught himself, stopping short on the path. No; it is too soon. She would not turn him away, he knew. A vampire’s bite is a sensation beyond description; a drug, or the touch of a god. Or a devil, depending on his mood when he bit down. I told her I would show her, when she was certain she wished to know. Would I have kept that word, truly? Have I grown so selfish to have bound her so to me? His heart knew the answer, however much he tried not to hear. I have become a monster, then. He turned his face toward the city. A bar, he decided. I need a drink. He sneered, hearing his thoughts. A drunk, yet. She could have done no worse than me.

He hurried his pace, desperate for oblivion. Behind him, the clouds parted, a single ray of sunshine touching mere inches behind him. He did not notice. Some time later, after a quick stop at a liquor store, the scene was as different as night and day. Laughing aloud, literally dancing from one rooftop to another, the intoxicated vampire sang show-tunes, far outside their proper keys, pausing now and again to draw breath, and to take another drink from the bottle in his hand.

Her eyes looked deeper now; her smile bore an edge of sorrow. Time passed, as it does. One semester ended, a brief break came and went, a new session began – colleges pay as little attention to seasons as to the outside world’s rush hours. Perhaps trees dropped leaves, or produced buds; she didn’t notice. She awoke early every morning, watching the sun rise, smiling her new sad smile as colors crept across the sky, erasing night and stars. She tried not to think of Ivar. She failed, of course. He was never far from her thoughts. It’s like not thinking of a white bear! He’s everywhere. I see an old book, and wonder if he’s read it, if he knew the author. I hear music, and I think of dancing with him. She sighed, holding her arms around herself, the hug no one was there to give her. I dream of him, wake alone, and cry. I go into the library, and look for him. And when was the last time I went to the coffee shop? I need help! Psychiatric help. Or maybe an exorcist. Though he’s not precisely a demon, devilishy handsome or not. Van Helsing, the great and fearsome vampire killer? She shook her head, sourly amused. No, killing him wouldn’t help; he’d still be in my head. And it’s not like he did anything wrong, really. Unless you count his terminal lack of taste in dinner companions. What was that haircolor, anyway? Besides unnatural. Trying to hold on to her smile, she rose to dress.

Picking out a silk top, her eyes closed at the rush of sensation, her fingertips recalling innumerable nights of brushing against his silk-covered arms, his shoulders. His chest. An exorcist, definitely. Or a ghostbuster. He’s haunting me, and he’s dead. That should be enough, right? “Who you gonna call?” She smiled briefly, and moved on to her day. And another long night spent in restless wondering.

Ivar growled, irritable and longing to strike out at someone. Anyone. Where’s this influx of criminal activity I’ve been reading about? No murderers prowling the streets, no thugs, no pickpockets, even! Most of the blood he took was willingly given, but his kind were predators, and he had never lost his taste for battle, only bound himself ’round with rules. No innocents, no children, no one too lost in drugs or madness to know who or where they were. Criminals, men of evil, or willing donors. Sighing out the last of his breath, he leaped down from the side of the building, strode out into the town. The college has a few back alleys yet that I might wander; with luck, I might find someone to fight. And feed.

“How long are you going to sulk?”

“I am not sulking!” She looked up at her brown haired friend, today eschewing all humor in favor of the stern demeanor of a parochial-school teacher. Hands on waist, feet firmly planted – she could almost see the wimple. And the ruler. Ouch! Guess I’d better behave.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Kristen frowned, “you’ve been hiding. There’re always men panting around you; why don’t you go out?”

“I think you’re confused. Men do not pant over me. I’m not exactly Helen of Troy,” she winced as she remembered the last time she’d said that, and to whom. “Men don’t follow me around, no matter what you keep saying.” Kristen’s mouth twisted, but she continued. “Okay, sometimes men do ask me out, but I’m just not interested. Besides, dating – it’s just so awkward. I never know what to say, what they expect of me. At least with— ”

“—don’t. Don’t even say his name.” Kristen shook her head, her brown hair bobbing. “You never have figured out just how beautiful you are when you smile, have you? No, you’re not Helen. Men don’t leave you and go off seeking trophies, or kingdoms, or heads. They circle around you like moths to flame, dying to be burned. If I had a smile like yours, I’d have men lined up from here to Tokyo!”

“And you’re what, half a dozen short? Give it a rest. I don’t want whole crowds of men; you know that. I want—”

“—don’t. Just don’t. You told me it’s over. He told me it’s over. So it’s over. Go out, just one night, one date. Live a little. You are alive, you know?”

“You saw him? When? How was he?” she bounced up from her seat, grabbed her friend’s hands.

“Damn. I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I was lying?” Kristen freed her hands, stepped back, unnerved at the sudden surge of interest. She shook her head.

“Begin at the beginning.” Turning her friend’s line against her. Kristen blew out hard, her hair fluffing with the gust.

“Yeah, yeah. Got to tell you, I feel very much like I just fell into Wonderland. If I tell you, promise not to cut off my head?”

“I promise I will if you don’t.” Only half joking, she stalked toward her friend.

“Right. Well, it’s like this…”

She was sitting on the quad, trying to read, when a shadow fell across the page. Her heart skipped a beat before she realized that it was not an attacker. Down, girl! It’s broad daylight! Yeah, but I feel safer at night. She frowned to herself, looked up at the hesitantly smiling man waiting patiently to meet her gaze. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually, you can. I was wondering… ah, we’ve met, at the administrative party a while back. I’m Kip Carrothers. You told me there’s a good restaurant in town, and I was hoping you’d let me take you there. Good cooking seems hard to find in this town.” He smiled again, and his skin crinkled around his eyes, pale lines winking from the corners. She caught her breath. Suntan. Well, he did tell me to go live my life in the sun, now, didn’t he? Her smile was not altogether kind, but Kip didn’t notice, too busy drowning in her eyes to be concerned with such non-essentials.

“Sounds good to me,” she answered with as much cheer as she could muster. Dugger’s was crowded, but the waiter found them a quiet table; Kip took every advantage of the small space, his hand brushing hers often. He leaned in to hear her speak, almost within kissing distance, creating a tension of which he pretended to be unaware. She wasn’t pretending. For a few moments at a time, she enjoyed herself, but then her mind would return, inevitably, to Ivar. The last time I saw him was here, with that woman. Damn, and then he… ate her. Drank her. Whatever. I hope she gave him indigestion. Her smile twisted, more than a little cruel. More than a little wistful, as well. Kip saw the sighs and the smiles, interpreted them correctly.

“Bad break-up?” He made his voice sympathetic, laid one hand gently on her arm. Inched his seat just a bit closer to hers.

“Strange. The whole relationship, not just the end. And not proper dinner conversation; I am sorry.” She smiled brightly by way of apology, and his eyes widened. Dim it down, girl. You’re not interested in him, don’t get his hopes up. Though she wasn’t sure she cared. The smile slipped off her face, and she reached for her wine glass. I miss Ivar. The evening ended soon after that, with Kip delivering her home, trying for an invitation inside but being brushed aside. No, I don’t think so. I didn’t even invite Ivar in that first night. Siren and all. Suddenly aware of the tears flowing down her cheeks, she said a hasty goodbye and rushed inside. “Damn you, Ivar,” she sobbed into her dog’s furry coat, “Why?” Frenrik had no reply.

Clouds scudded across the night sky, obscuring the stars and whatever moon there might have been to see. She sighed, her eyes seeing no movement in the shadows. Damn it, Ivar, you can’t have just gone off and left me! Can you? She pushed a strand of hair back, bit her knuckle, sighed again and again. I’m acting like a stupid child. I knew it wasn’t going to work, he knew it, we called it quits. Where’s the problem? I still wish I knew...

Determined to quit moping, she moved to her desk, took out a sheet of paper. I wrote to him and started all this. Maybe I should write to say goodbye. She nibbled the end of her pen, wondering what to say. The first tint of dawn stained the sky before she had a note she felt comfortable with. The floor around her chair was littered with crumpled pages. An observer could have read many of them: Hope the shadows managed to dim that hair of hers! and Daylight is not as warm as your smile. Others, sarcastic or honestly emotional, joking or flippant or caring. She smiled as the new daylight touched her cheek and then rose to shower and dress. Her final composition lay on the desk, waiting. I shall always treasure the memory of dancing on rooftops beneath the stars. Thank you.

Ivar leaned his head against the bookshelf, heedless of the remaining dust. He’d spent so much time there lately that he’d managed to attract most of it, carrying the dust away on his clothes, his skin and hair. That was where she used to sit, and I always wished I could tell her to go enjoy the sunlight. Now she does, and I spend my time wishing she’d sit there, instead. Was I not supposed to accrue some wisdom to go with my years? Or does that only apply to the living? A familiar footstep reached his ears, and his eyes widened. Can it be? Is she here? Returned to me? His heart would have raced in his chest, had it still beat. He watched, hoping, as the figure he would never forget approached her old study table. She wore a soft, sad smile, and his heart broke again, seeing it.

She has not returned to me. Her skin was flushed with recent sun, and he tried to take comfort in that. She looks healthy, at least. She placed a folded piece of paper on the table, patted it absently, turned and walked away. Her head did not turn, but the set of her shoulders told him she was as aware as ever of his presence. Her eyes gleamed, as if with unshed tears. No sooner had she left the building than he was at the table, using his full inhuman speed, uncaring that he might be seen. I have to know. He unfolded the paper, scanned the words, and fell into the nearest chair, crumpling the page in one hand. Goodbye.


	10. Chapter 10

He’d told her to move on. Why, then, was he so distraught that she was doing so? I love her. But she is alive. She deserves sunlight, and warmth, and all the things a woman of this age might desire. His mind roamed the pages of his memory again, women content with their lot, women chafing against society’s bounds, women determined to follow their own paths regardless. Women who thrived in caring for others, or who never found happiness at all. He’d helped those he could, down through the years, payment for the blood they had given him, or the pleasure, or the companionship, but never had there been one whose happiness was more important to him than his own. All those years, I was more selfish even than I knew. So, wisdom does come even to those beyond death. His smile was more of a grimace, pain stretching his lips wide. Goodbye. He might have sat there forever, if his cell phone hadn’t rung. Even the undead get phone calls. “Yes, Vera. Tomorrow, then.” He went back to staring. Goodbye. 

The night was cool, scented with the afternoon’s rain, and the streets gleamed like they’d been polished. She took a deep breath, enjoying herself; the play she’d just seen had been fun, the performances far better than she’d expected. Light, fluffy comedy; just what every girl needs! She hummed a bit as she walked. The path ahead was not clear. She knew before she looked up that it was Ivar. She always knew.

“Lady.” His voice was low, and soft, but she heard. Her eyes closed against a flood of emotion, pain and pleasure both. “How are you faring?”

“Faring? Is that like ‘how are you?’ I’m fine, really. Thanks ever so much for asking.” Anger was easier than hurt, so she lashed out, not wishing to admit even to herself how much she wanted simply to rush into his arms. Not that he’s offering, she told herself. Her lips tightened.

“I never meant to hurt you,” the whisper came. Light reflected off the wet pavement, bounced off his hair, shone from his eyes, his teeth, but she could not see his expression. The whole was hidden from her behind the parts. She squinted, frowned.

“Fine words.”

“Truly meant.”

“I’m sure a man of your considerable years could have managed, somehow, not to hurt me, if you’d cared.” She heard the sharp tone of her words, pulled her lips into a smile edged to match. You wouldn’t even tell me how you feed. My best friend, you give details to, but not me. How do you think that’s sparing me from pain? His shoulders slumped, his head bowed. He said nothing, simply stood. Unmoving, unbreathing. Impossibly patient. Waiting. And waiting, while her heartbeat roared in her ears. “Why did you come here?” She had to say something. It was that or scream.

“I don’t know, really. I just…”

“Just what? Just wanted to see how I’m surviving without you? Well, I am, as you’ve seen, and now you can go away.” Her voice dropped, losing its edge. “Just leave. Please.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice broke. “This was a mistake.”

“Yes. It was.” She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, looked down at the ground, waiting for him to go.

“I… lady. The note you left me? The music is always there, if you but listen.” He stepped back into shadow, was gone from view by the time she looked up. What did he mean by that? The stars had no answer. What did I mean by that? Ivar stalked across the roof of the library, pacing, his step sure on the still-wet footing. Was I truly talking to her, or to myself? I should be a continent away by now, to let her live the life she needs. Instead, I torture myself, stalking her. One night she’s going to use that siren on me, and I won’t blame her! How is she supposed to find a normal, mortal, human love with me trailing her, treading on her shadow? Shadow. That’s all I am, in truth. A bit of night, even during the day. The night faded, and he crept indoors. A shadow, running from the sun.

She sat in her now-accustomed spot on the quad, students passing around her like a stream parting for a rock. About how I feel. Stone dumb. She popped her ears after a particularly screeching wave of young girls. Her book lay open before her, forgotten, her mind turned to the eternal question: what is happiness? And where can I find it? A lover I can carbon date – that surely wasn’t the answer. Frustrated, she threw up her hands, gathered her things and turned to go, running nose-first into Kip Carrothers. Who, laughingly, caught her, strong hands beneath her elbows.

“Are you alright? No permanent damage?” He smiled charmingly. Hmm. No roaming hands this time. I wonder, is he trainable?

“Ah, yes, thanks. Quick reflexes.” Quick hands. No, don’t think that. This one is alive.

“Older brothers,” he grinned. “Great training for the rest of life.” Her heart skipped a beat, as his words echoed her thoughts. “So, any plans for dinner?”

“Ah…”

“Because if you don’t, I know this restaurant where they can actually cook. An amazingly intelligent woman told me about it.” The grin never left his face. Well, why not? She found herself nodding. Dinner was pleasant; Kip kept his hands on his own side of the table, used his smiles and his conversational skills to please her. This time, when he dropped her off, he kissed her cheek, nothing more. She went inside still smiling, half wondering how long he’d wait before he tried anything else. When he called to ask her out again, she accepted. He seemed to understand what would best please her, took her for picnics in the park, to outdoor concerts, into town to shop the bookstores. Lighthearted, low-pressure situations. She grew almost to consider him a friend, but not quite. There were two problems: first, he was interested in her physically, and never completely managed to conceal that from her, so she always felt his intentions, the desire in his gaze; second…

“He’s so dull!” She held her face in both hands, moaning. Kristen laughed. “It’s not funny! Underneath the polite manners and the polish, there’s just space! If he has an opinion, I haven’t been able to find it. He’s never been anywhere, and doesn’t want to. ‘Why would I leave?’ The guy went to college here because his father did; never even thought about anyplace else. Why does he do what he does for a living? One guess. I swear, I think he asked me out because I look a little like his mother. I thought it was a good sign, that he kept asking me to go do things I liked – turns out, they’re the things his father did when courting his mom. I don’t want to be his mother. Or version two, or whatever. The man’s a clone.” Kristen gasped for breath, chuckling.

“I’m sorry, was that ‘clone’ or ‘clown?’”

“Android!” Frenrik leapt up, awakened by the shout. “Automaton. Robot. Programmed. Incapable of independent thought.”

“Well, girl, you brought it on yourself. You wanted normal, remember? So that’s what the universe sent you: one standard issue, suburbia, no surprises, one-size-fits-all husband-and provider type. You want to turn him in for some other model?”

“I want to turn him upside down and shake him, see if an independent thought comes out.” Spying Kristen’s face, she began to giggle. “I’m betting on a picture of mom and pop, a little flag, and not a whole lot else. You?” Screwing up her face, Kristen mimed stroking a crystal ball.

“I see,” she adopted a bizarre late-movie accent, “flannel. Gray flannel. And a station wagon.”

“The station wagon, I buy, but flannel?”

“From between his ears.”

“Oh, Kristen, what am I going to do?” Her smile disappeared as though it had never been, and she slumped into her seat.

“Whatever you want.”

“I can’t have what I want. That’s the problem.”

“I know.” They sighed in unison.

“Wait, you’re going out with Kip again?” Kristen waved her hand, splashing the coffee she held, stepping nimbly out of its path. “I thought you were going to dump him.” she shrugged.

“I was. I might. But it’s just a movie, you know? Besides, I don’t feel like being alone. I’d just spend the night staring out the window, thinking of you-know-who.”

“Yeah. Kip, though? All the men trailing after you, you could do better than him. He’s so… predictable.”

“Men do not trail after me. Where do you get such ideas? And as for predictable,” she made a face, half smirk, half smile. “There are worse things. Take it from me. At least with Kip, if he goes for my neck, I’m not going to worry about being bitten. Slobbered to death, maybe.” Her smile brightened as she realized that the thought hurt less than it would have weeks before. Hey, what do you know? Time heals!

“I don’t know. I’ve always thought boredom really might be fatal. Give me a bad boy every day.” The Mae West look made its reappearance, and she laughed.

“You can keep them. I’m beginning to think Kip might not be so bad, if only I can startle him a little.”

“You could try electroshock.” she laughed, but part of her acknowledged the point. He really is hopelessly dull.

“So what did you think of the movie?”

“It was okay.” You’ve said that already, you idiot. In fact, it’s what you say about everything. She gritted her teeth behind her smile, hurried her steps. Almost home. “Listen, I was wondering, I know it’s short notice, but the college is putting on a special performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d like to go? With me?” She stopped, standing in the middle of the street, one foot slightly raised.

“What did you say?”

“Uh, I asked—”

“—I heard you, I’m just surprised. You like Rocky Horror?” Kip ducked his head, his cheeks pink.

“Yeah. Well. I like Meatloaf. Listen, if that’s too weird…” hunching his shoulders, he moved to turn away.

“No! God, no! It’s wonderful. I… I’d love to go.” Surprising herself, she stepped up close to him, kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stood where she left him, nodding like a dash-board ornament.

“Tomorrow. Okay. Tomorrow.”

“How many times did he bounce when you tossed him?” The voice on the phone was unmistakable; she laughed.

“Hi, Kristen. If you mean Kip, I didn’t dump him.” A disgusted sound traveled the line. “Puppy dog eyes?”

“No, better. He surprised me. Asked me to Rocky Horror. How’s that for unpredictable?”

“Shocks the hell out of me. Maybe there’s a glitch in his programming?”

“Maybe. Or he got an upgrade. An add-on chip?”

“Ooh, there’s a thought. Let me know how things go?”

“Of course.” She hung up the phone, smiling. Kristen held the receiver in her hand, pensive frown creasing her face. Is she really going to settle? Just because he surprised her once? Whatever happened to love conquering all?

Ivar stared out the window longingly, drinking in the sunlight. He stood far enough away that he was fully in the shadows, in no danger of even a single stray beam. No light fell on his too-pale skin, tracks on the dusty floor testament to his many hours here. Even his excellent memory could not provide the touch of warm day on warmer, still-living skin, the feel and taste of sun warmed air passing through his lungs. He wished he could cry, to rid himself of sorrow, but tears are shed only by the living; he could only sigh. And that only if he remembered to breathe. Is she thinking of me? Or has she forgotten me? Dare I visit her again? Is it too selfish of me? Can I live – exist – without her, if she turns away, finds happiness without me? He was obsessing. I’ve lost women before; it hasn’t killed me yet. But she is not like the others; she is unique. Ivar took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. It failed to make him feel better. Folding his arms, he stared, unblinking, at the light he dared not go near, longing for its touch even as he wished it to be gone, that he might at least prowl in the night where she had been in the day.

She moved through her day, humming snatches of music from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, though she hadn’t seen it in some time. She looked forward to the evening, to seeing Kip, wondering what else he might be capable of, now that he’d managed to surprise her once. And his lips were warm, when I kissed him. That thought wasn’t entirely pleasant, though she tried to convince herself it was a good thing. Different, but good. She found a silk shirt in the back of her closet, appropriate enough for the night. A little more daring than her usual choice, but as many people wore costumes to Rocky as showed up in normal dress. The doorbell rang.

Right. Kip. She shook herself, glanced in the mirror, nodded at her own reflection. Prepare to be surprised. He met her with a sachet of rice to take to the performance, and she laughed, pleased. “Shall we, then?” He raised an eyebrow.

“We shall.” Only after she had taken his arm did she realize she had been quoting from her first meeting with Ivar. She resolved not to do it again, but to enjoy her date. She and Kip danced down the path, arm in arm, laughing, singing snatches of “Timewarp,” easily the most infectious of the songs from Rocky Horror. Every few steps, one or the other would stop, perform one of the dance steps described in the song, and the other would rush to join in. “Enough!” she finally gasped. “I can’t remember… the last time… I laughed so much.”

“I like to see you laughing,” Kip told her. “It suits you. Your eyes dance to music I can almost hear.” she stopped, chilled by his words. Music. Is that what he meant? Her heart skipped a beat, and laughter fled; the memory of sweetness was bitter on her tongue. Oh, Ivar. I do hope you’re happy. I hope you found something worth hunting for. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Kip. It’s not you.” She bit her lip; blood flowed, hot copper less acrid than her thoughts.

“Memories of the ex. Got it.”

“You are a good man.” She smiled, but not happily. Sober now, the two made their way down the path. “You never ask about him. Why is that? I know about your exes, and your brothers, and your parents, and your nieces and nephews. You know about my family, about Kristen… Why haven’t you asked—”

“—about my competition? Because I’d rather not know. I’ll listen if you want to talk, but I don’t need the details.” She turned to face him, looking at Kip, convinced she didn’t know him at all. His face was all in straight lines, no smile, no crinkles by his eyes, everything even, almost severe. “I know what I need to know. You’re here, with me.” She nodded, and reached a hand to stroke his cheek just as a scream cut the air. She turned, and saw a scene from a nightmare. 

Fire leapt from the roof of the library, a salamander’s tongue of red and gold lighting up the sky. she gasped as she ran – Ivar is up there! Though he could have been anywhere, on campus or off, she was filled with a dire certainty: he was in trouble, surrounded by flames, too high for even him to jump. She cried his name as she ran. The fire glowed against the night, a devil’s laugh, painted by a madman. Sirens began to sing their rhythmic songs, and other shrieks joined her own.

“Ivar! Ivar!” And “love!” The word she hadn’t dared to say to him when she’d had the chance. What will I do if he’s gone? He’s my life! She sobbed, breath hitching in her chest, but would not let it slow her as she ran. A black-suited monster appeared before her; she yelped before realizing it was a fireman.

“You’ll have to stay back, miss,” he told her, shepherding her away. “Let us do our work.”

“But he’s in there! My love.”

“Who? Are you sure? The library’s been locked for hours, are you saying there’s someone in there?” The voice came rumbling like thunder from high above her; she looked up, into the grim face of a policeman. Not campus security, but a real cop.

“Why, no, officer,” she grimaced, trying desperately to smile. “That is, I don’t know for sure if he is or was up there, it’s just, when I heard the sirens and saw the flames…” The policeman glowered and made no comment, just directed a stern look at her. He turned away, his attention already on the next catastrophe, and she sighed, as one whom the angel of death had passed over. Now, if only Ivar, too, had escaped its chilled gaze. Again. Kip stood back, watching, his face perfectly blank. He’d heard the word she kept shouting, saw the look on her face. He knew she wasn’t his, and never would be. Still, he stayed, in case she needed him.

The fireman escorted them both back, out of danger, and Kip took her in his arms and wrapped himself around her. Not to seduce her; he wasn’t a fool. Just to comfort her, to protect her. She might not even have known he was there. Her attention was all for the fire, for the fight. It did its best to devour the library; the firemen did all they could to destroy the blaze. Hours passed, and the crowd which had gathered dispersed, chased off by smoke, ash and a rising stench of burnt wood and plastic and paper and melted metal and fire-retarding chemicals. She never moved, barely blinked, staring, hoping. Where are you? Love? Are you still alive? Do you still exist? Kip said nothing until the last firetruck had pulled away.

“Come on. Let me take you home.” She looked up, dazed and panting.

“But it can’t be over! He’s not… he can’t be…” Kip took her arm, led her away.

“I’ll call Kristen. You shouldn’t be alone.” He didn’t ask any of the questions in his mind, not wishing to further disturb her with his curiosity, but he did wonder why she was so certain her ex had been in the library after hours. He brought her home, made tea, called Kristen while she pretended to sip at it, and left when her friend had arrived. “I thought you’d be a better companion right now,” he explained, and Kristen’s brown eyes widened with respect. She watched him as he walked away, one eyebrow raised in sudden speculation. But her friend was in pain, and she set all such thoughts aside.

“Oh, Kristen! I never told him… and now he’s gone!” She threw herself into her best friend’s arms, weeping. “I miss him so much!” Kristen made soothing noises, patted her much the same way as if she were Frenrik, listened until she cried herself to sleep. Tucking her beneath an afghan, Kristen sighed and went to raid the kitchen. On the way, she passed a window, with a note tucked under the sash. Always curious, she retrieved it, unfolded it while she walked. And tripped in midair when she saw the date. Yesterday. Oh, Love. I’m so sorry! I’d never danced before that night, not truly. I am eternally yours. If ever you need me, I shall be there, in the shadows. Tears streamed down her cheeks; she was careful not to let them stain the page. Someday, when she’s ready, I’ll show her this. But not now, not yet. Kristen sniffed. You’re not the only one who’ll miss him. I liked him, too. But he loved you. Beyond the grave, he loved you. She doubted it would comfort her much.


	11. The End

Lingering smoke hung over the wreckage of the library, as sad a sight as anyone would wish. The next day students had built a small memorial, placed paper flowers and roses near the place where the door had been. Yellow tape framed the rubble, garishly bright against ash and stains. Night fell at last, signaling the end of a dismal day. She felt a few last tears squeeze their way free. Irritably, she brushed them from her lashes.

“I refuse to believe that you’re gone. You managed to live – exist – hundreds of years before last night. You can’t be gone. I won’t let you.” Firming her jaw, she circled the remains, looking for something. Anything. Hours passed before she admitted there was nothing there. “Damn it, I didn’t sneak away from Kristen for nothing. You’re around here somewhere! Maybe you were with the floozy last night? Or another of her kind? Your own? Hell, I don’t care. Just come back to me.” She paced the paths they’d taken, one by one. Each tree under which they’d sheltered, each bench. As she went, she talked – to him, to herself and to the shadows. “Must I hunt you down again? Or perhaps I could use the burned bits of the building to write notes on the sidewalk for you?”

“What would you write, if you did?” His voice was hoarse; later she would wonder if it was from inhaled smoke, or if it was simply from emotion. He stepped forward, into view. His clothes were charred, his hair ragged; one pale hand now bore a gaping wound. She gasped, and rushed into his arms, hugging him tight. He winced away, pulled back far enough to see her face, repeated his question. “What would you write?” Her voice was as hoarse as his, all from emotion.

“The night isn’t cold, nor the shadows dark, if I’m with you, my love.”

“Oh.” He sighed, a sound filled with all the things he could not say. They stood for a moment, eyes closed against the darkness. Neither one felt any desire to move. She took a deep breath, and the sound of it, the feel, made Ivar tremble with emotion. She looked up, a question in her eyes; she saw Ivar’s face and smiled, closed her eyes again. Time might have stopped, out of courtesy – there was no sound, no movement, only them. He bent his head and kissed her. His lips were cool as the night around them. At first. Her warmth, his chill, melted, joined, became one. Her arms clasped him tighter, and brought him no pain, just a pleasure so sweet it was agony. A love bright enough to light shadows.

“Will you show me how you feed?”

“When you are certain.” He pressed his face against her hair, inhaling the scent of her.

“Would it help you, to heal, I mean? If I, if you,” she pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, “if you fed from me? Now?” Ah, Love!

“I have no need of nourishment at the moment. Thank you, though.” Another breath, purely for the pleasure of it. “M’ lady, there is something I must tell you. My kind…” He had   
only meant to pause for an instant, but she pulled his mouth down to hers, and he lost himself in her kiss for what might have been hours. Her tongue dueled sweetly with his, her hands tangled in his shoulder-length, straight hair, and the pulse of her heart shook both their forms. The night air failed to chill them. He thought he should be panting when the kiss came to an end. “You must hear me. If you choose to love me, fully, there is danger in it for you. You might become as I am.”

“A vampire.” Her voice was calm, certain, sure, her fear banished by his caress.

“Yes. It is not the usual way one turns another, but it happens from time to time. And… a vampire’s bite is addictive.”

“There are more important things in life than safety.” Her gaze was as deep as his own, as dark; he felt like drowning in it. “I thought I’d lost you. And I would have craved you all my days; I am already addicted. It’s called love. If I catch immortality from loving you, I’ll blame it on fate. And you’ll teach me what I need to know.”

“You will learn everything of what I am before you choose. I must insist.” He took his hands from her, stepped back half a pace. She looked at him, reading the line of his muscular body and nodded. “We have time before sunrise. Would you care to meet another of my kind?”

“No.” She smiled as he frowned. “We’ll do the family thing another night. Tonight you are coming home with me.” She would have stepped forward to erase the space between them, but though she hadn’t seen him move, he was there before her, his hands urging her closer still. His arms closed around her, shadows folding, and she sighed, feeling she had come home. She might have imagined his whisper, so soft it was, breathed against her lips. “You’ve hunted me, and found me; I am yours.” She sank into her vampire lover’s kiss.

Kristen smiled at her new beau, amused. “You’re so handsome when you blush.” Kip growled, cheeks red, and pulled her toward him for a kiss. He had learned it was the easiest way to shut her up. She hid her smile in Ivar’s shoulder. All that joking about being a man-eater, and look at her now! Well, if anyone can get him to express an opinion… Ivar just waited, remembering to breathe. It was easy, with his love so near; he inhaled the scent of her hair, delighting in her presence. The past days had been better than he had ever dreamed, spending his time in her home, even watching her sleep at night. The issues still to be resolved were not as worrisome as they once were.

Jeanne had met with them the night before, and taken her aside, providing factual background about their kind, and offering her unconditional help to her. Vera had taken her to lunch that afternoon, her advice, of a different sort, was equally welcome. Ivar remembered fondly that first rush of joy after the fire, the sweetest thing he had ever felt in all his nights was her warm and welcoming embrace. She, later, had scolded him for not taking better care of himself, and had asked what he might need, shyly offered her blood if that would help him. He had startled himself, then, by how little he desired it, fangs not even beginning to protrude. And then she had dragged him home with her, threatening to bathe him like a stray dog. As was his habit, he had resorted to a quotation. “‘Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.’ As You Like It. Shakespeare, of course.” And she had frowned, the expression never seeming to belong on her smiling face.

“That was no, thanks, maybe later? Yeah. Love, I never thought these words would pass my lips – but you spend too much time in libraries!” He smiled at her now, remembering that night, and she returned his soft gaze, her heart speeding a bit, a private message for him. His fangs throbbed gently, imagining the nights to come, and the days. They had decided between them that it was time for him to show her how he fed. She slowly traced a finger down the length of her neck, just to tease him. Ivar and Kristen grinned, both knowing the true meaning of the gesture. Kip looked up, frowning, at the horizon; the quizzical sound he made drew all eyes.

“I’ve lived in this town all my life, never been away.” The others just looked at him, waiting for him to make his point. He nodded at a building which would have been hidden had the library still stood. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen that gargoyle.” Ivar threw back his head and laughed, and the women joined him. Kip looked around the table, confused. When he found no answers, he looked back at the building. The gargoyle was gone.

Ivar looked at her, blue eyes bright with passion; his hands shook. “Are you sure?” She took his face in her hands, drew him near for a kiss. His fangs were fully extended; she traced them with her tongue, loving the taste of him.

“I am.” It felt like a vow. “I love you.”

She ran her hands down the length of his muscular body, still marveling that he was hers. He let her play for a while, enjoying the warmth of her touch, her mouth following her hands, drinking his chill. Their naked bodies pressed tightly together, enjoying the feel of one another for the first time. Her caresses grew insistent; he breathed so she could hear him gasp. She laughed and nibbled at his neck. He stood it as long as he could, then a moment longer. But finally he had to move, or come undone. Ivar trailed kisses along her collarbone, nibbled her earlobe, finally making his way to the nape of her neck.

She moaned beneath his attention, the sound of her voice making him shake with yearning. Thirst, desire, love. He hesitated for one eternal moment, fangs extruded to their full length, throbbing, dripping the essence of his need onto her perfect skin, glistening in the dim light. Finally, slowly, but with nothing of uncertainty, he bit down, not quite tenderly, knowing she would enjoy the feel of his teeth, but careful to cause no pain. His fangs sank within her, pressed home, revealing incredible sensations for both lovers, a new consummation. Her heartbeat raced through them both. Her shoulders remained still and her back straight, but her thighs and hips rolled sensuously as music moved through her and her blood sang. He had no need to delve for a pleasant dream to send her into, he simply channeled everything he felt for her and let her feel it as he does.  
She arched back into the inhuman caress and swayed there, arms trembling, head back; an almost meditative rhythm to her movements. Lost in sensation, she moaned his name. Pleasure ran through her like a wave that never crested, climbing higher and higher as he drank. His hands roamed her body, warmer than they’d ever felt against her skin. My warmth. My life. A distant thought, that made her smile with something much like pride. I do this to him. Ivar slowly removed his fangs and moved over her body, one pleasure giving way to another. A wide, wanton smile graced her face as she looked up at him, blood staining his lips, her blood. Skin against skin, no layers between them, her heart beating for them both. Her blood had warmed his flesh, replacing chill with passion’s heat.

When he entered her, they both cried out. He bent to kiss her, drinking the cries she made as ecstasy crested at last. The taste of her blood didn’t bother her as she thought it might, it was actually erotic. She was willing to share every bit of herself with him, and the thought comforted them both. This was forever.

He tried to keep his rhythm slow and steady, but her body called to his in a way that made it impossible. In no time at all the room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin and their combined moans, both still high on the sensations from the bite, making every movement heighten their pleasure. Her headboard began to hit the wall with every upwards thrust of his hips into hers, making her feel the stretch throughout her body.

Leaning down, he licked at the bite mark on her neck with a growl, tasting her all over again. Her release called his own, and he buried himself as deep inside of her as he could, content to make her feel every ounce of him.

After she caught her breath and her heart rate returned to normal, they rested, content, smiling.

“I love you,” he sighed, and she drank his words with a bloody kiss.


End file.
